


The Totally Righteous Bro

by CreativelyCole



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, M/M, Meta, Original Character(s), Slight Canon Divergence, Theorycraft, Video Game Mechanics, World of Warcraft: Legion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2018-10-15 21:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 97,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativelyCole/pseuds/CreativelyCole
Summary: A young paladin wants to bring peace to a world on fire. Luckily, he is far from alone in his struggle.THIS IS IN THE PROCESS OF BEING EDITED





	1. Great Balls of Felfire!

He was forgetting something; not like he could do much about it at this point, though.  All of Stormwind’s paladins who had not yet been dispatched to fight the Legion were assigned to patrol the streets, bringing calm to the tense populace.  They were all dolled up in knight’s regalia, all bright golds and blues, much happier than the mourner’s black the city-state had adorned. 

Hair neatly combed back under his helmet, Horace Lin watched grieving citizens file to and from the keep.  Inside, he knew, was the casket of Varian Wrynn, High King of the Alliance. Former king now, since, by the end of midday, he would be officially succeeded.  The young squire couldn’t imagine what the new ruler was feeling at the moment. An entire world on fire, a father dead, and now excessive amounts of power dumped on his shoulders without warning.  Hopefully the Horde would pipe down long enough for all the Alliance to process that.

Next to Horace rode his mentor, Sir Arthur the Faithful, grim in his duty.  Neither had spoken all day; this was not the time to whisper worriedly like a couple of salty old fishermen.  He saw children shaking in fear as they hid behind their mother’s skirts, prompting him to thank the Light for not having to endure this when he was young.

They stopped outside the orphanage when a young girl ran up to them and grabbed the hem of Horace’s cloak.  Her big brown eyes stared up at him wetly in the mid-morning sun. She was clearly seeking something, anything, to comfort her.  From the sanctuary’s threshold, the matron mother called for her, but it fell on deaf ears.

At a loss for words, he reverted back to the standard greeting, “Blessings of the Light to you, child.”  It was a pitiful offering at best, but what could he tell her? That the Burning Legion wasn’t really coming?  Anyone who looked at the horizon these days could see that that was a lie.

Beside him, Sir Arthur dismounted, passing the reins to his squire.  To Horace’s surprise, he removed his helmet, cradling it in one hand while the other came to rest on the orphan’s shoulder as he knelt.  “Do not fear,” he told her, managing a small smile. “By the Light’s grace, we shall overcome.” Moving from her shoulder, his hand swept across her forehead, a shimmer of holy power trailing it.

The little girl gasped, wide-eyed wonder mixing with her fear.  Meeting the knight’s eyes once more, she nodded, then scrambled back inside the safety of the orphanage.  The matron mother waved at them.

Behind the slits in his helmet, the young paladin was beaming with pride for his mentor.  The man was everything he aspired to be: strong, compassionate, just. He inspired Horace, motivated him to be better, try harder.

Just as they had resumed their route, a messenger galloped up to deliver summons to the keep’s war room.  The coronation had been performed, but, as information of new attacks poured in, had skirted around all the pomp and circumstance that usually mired the event.  Everyone of officer rank was to report in for further instructions.

Horace’s heart was practically pounding out of his chest.  This was really happening, then. He was going to war. He searched his mentor’s face for any of that reassurance from earlier, and found it blank.  In the back of his mind, he wondered if the man was also afraid.

The majestic structure’s public court was devoid of Alliance leaders.  The memorial still lay in the center of the room, its only contents an empty wooden casket sealed off with an ornately-carved stone lid.  To the right of that was the war room, already packed with soldiers awaiting orders.

“Ser Arthur reporting for duty,” the paladin barked as soon as his name was called.  Horace stood at attention behind his superiors, pressed up against the wall with the other squires.  He was one of the eldest trainees, having just reached adulthood; a good chunk of them were barely into their teens.  Stalwart resolution held them still, even if their insides were jelly.

Horace listened to the briefing intently, his heart fluttering as the new invasion points were listed off.  It nearly stopped altogether when he heard, “Westfall.”

No.  No no no no no.  His whole family was there.  How fast could he feasibly reach the farm?  The Saldean’s land was fairly close to the Elwynn Forest, but if he took a gryphon from Stormwind he could fly over the mountains and cut travel time in half and  _ what was he thinking? _  He couldn’t just up and leave to go face a horde of demons by himself.  There would be knights dispatched to Westfall, and they would ensure his family would survive.  Taking a deep breath, he tuned back into the conversation.

“... but our main focus is Sentinel Hill.  We cannot afford to lose such a vital outpost-”

Screw it, he had to say something.  “Sir!” He made sure to salute, though at this point it didn’t matter.  “What about the civilians? They need to be evacuated.”

Sir Arthur fixed him with a withering look that nearly made him back down.  The whole room was staring at him, including Commander Shadowbreaker. Then it hit him that he had forgotten his vocal augment.  His voice sounded so grossly feminine and  _ ugh _ , every person in the room had heard it.

The commander cleared his throat, visibly irritated at being interrupted.  “If civilians can make their way out of Westfall, then they will. Between the tragedy at the Broken Shore, and the departure of the bulk of our forces, we have no one to spare for an escort.  Sentinel Hill knights and gryphon riders have already been set to patrol the area, and will find any stragglers. It is in the Light’s hands now.”

Rage boiled up in his gut.  “No!” he shouted. “ _ We _ are the Light’s hands, and those people will die if we don’t act.”

Sir Arthur hissed, “Enough, boy!” but was ignored.

“You cannot run off to rescue people who may not even be alive!” Shadowbreaker insisted.  “Now stand down!”

“No.”  He tensed his muscles, ready to make a break for the door.  “No matter the chances, there is never anyone under the Light who is not worth trying to save.”  And so he ran. He barely avoided smacking face-first into a tall, blond-haired young man about his age who was standing in the doorway.  It took him a few seconds to register that holy crap, that was the new king he’d nearly mowed over. How embarrassing.

Armor?  Check. Sword and shield?  Check. Now all he needed was a gryphon.  Horace never had much of a penchant for stealing--his mother had always, without fail, caught him right before he filched an extra treat from the cookie jar.  How he was going to manage stealing an eight hundred pound bird with four legs was beyond him, so he decided to simply ask for one. The stable masters eyed him suspiciously as he came barrelling up the ramp.

“Please, I need a gryphon,” he panted.  “It’s urgent.”

The dwarven woman sized him up, folding her arms across her chest.  “Prove it, girlie.”

He made a frustrated noise, both at having no proof and for being called  _ that _ .  In what was a desperate and completely stupid move, he blinded the three keepers with a flash of Light.  By the time the spell wore off, he had mounted an armored gryphon and taken to the skies, yelling over his shoulder, “So sorry!”

Heading south and west, the journey took about two hours, as opposed to six on horseback.  Flying so fast and without protective goggles under his helmet made his eyes burn and water incessantly.  It was the longest trip of his life, fear for his family’s safety a heavy weight in his heart. He didn’t come across any refugee caravans as he flew by the border between Elwynn and Westfall.

The sky had grown dark from smoke.  If the Cataclysm had only started to destroy Westfall, the Burning Legion was certainly finishing the job.  Smoke, thick and grey, billowed up from several spots where homesteads used to be. Ash fell like rain upon the prairie.  In the distance, he could see massive, arching gateways with demons pouring out, and began to wonder if maybe he should have thought this through more.  It was too late to turn back, however; besides, he needed to save his family, no matter what. Yet had he paused even for a split second to glance behind him during his flight, he would have seen he was not alone in his quest.

The proto-drake was the first to catch up, its big blue maw slightly agape to vent the frostfire leaking outward.  On its back were two very familiar faces. “Saskia, Natalie!” he cried. Despite his words being lost to the wind, they waved at him.  His mount shied away from Saskia’s scaley friend--Darcy? Darbie? He wasn’t quite sure--who probably saw the bird as a snack.

Another gryphon flew up alongside him, this one bearing a very peeved Sir Arthur the Faithful.  Horace pumped his fist into the air, so relieved he could cry. Now, he at least stood a chance of making it out alive.

They followed Horace’s lead, swooping down toward the Saldean farm.  Or what remained of it, anyways. The field burned, all that dry grass and dead earth becoming perfect kindling.  In the midst of it all, a gateway had emerged from the earth. Its dark, twisted spires reached up towards the heavens as eredar worked to power the portal it contained.  At the front of the house, demons were closing in. Fending them off was the bulk of the farm’s adult workers, armed with whatever they had, which was mostly pitchforks and hammers.  It was hardly a match against the Legion’s time-tested weapons of mass destruction.

Horace’s gryphon shrieked as they came in to land, raking its talons down the back of a felguard.  Green blood erupted from the hulking beast’s wounds as it spun around, lashing out at its attackers.  Together they dove to avoid the blade, then rushed towards its legs, hoping to bring it to its knees so as to deliver the killing blow.  Darcy got to it first, taking its tiny head clean off with one side-long bite. The drake spat it out as the rest of the body toppled, burning away any tainted blood in his mouth with a bout of frostfire.

The young paladin went next to the imps surrounding the defending farmers.  Shield raised, he thrust his sword forward, piercing one demon in the stomach.  Another attempted t blast him with felfire; he shut his eyes and let the Light suffuse him so that the flames washed harmlessly over his body.  He used the remaining time before the spell dissipated to fight the third imp, parrying a swipe of its jagged claws. Ducking under its arms, he bashed the fiend with his shield and sliced it open while it staggered back.

“Horace!”  He whirled around to find his mother and father running up to embrace him.

“Oh, my baby, you’re alright,” Emma Lin crooned, kissing one of the few clean spots on his helmet.  “We heard about the Broken Shore--we were so worried you were with them.”

“I’m alright, mom; my friends and I are going to get you out of here.”  Wiping his sword clean with his cloak, he asked, “Where’s everyone else?”  There was a disquieting lack of homeless people.

“Inside the house,” Feng Lin replied.

Natalie, Saskia, and Sir Arthur had hacked their way over to the Lin family, their mounts not far behind.  The tide of demons had slowed for the time being, but it wouldn’t be long before the next wave hit. All of them were bruised and filthy, but otherwise unharmed.

“Can you create a portal to Stormwind?” Horace asked Natalie.

The mage nodded.  “I just can’t maintain it for long.”

“It’ll have to do.  Go inside the house, it’s the safest place to--”  Feng never got to finish his sentence as an infernal, hurtling down to the ground, took out the roof of the two-story structure.  Those who had been hiding there came out screaming in fright. “Nevermind.” He raised his voice. “Stay put! We will protect you!”

Sweat beading on her dark brow, Natalie began to summon the portal.  Meanwhile, Saskia was keeping the civilians in place, using Darcy as mean, hungry-looking coercion in case someone tried to bolt.

The infernal towered above the farmstead, its massive feet making craters in the earth with each step.  Sir Arthur led the charge against it, Horace right by his side. It roared, kicking at the oncoming attackers.  Arthur’s hammer smashed into one foot, sending bits of flaming rock in all directions. Just like before with the felguard, they went for the legs first.  With all their combined might, it still wasn’t enough.

Their salvation announced itself with an owl’s screech.  There were three of them, careening down in flight form before two assumed the guise of bears, and one returned to its night elf body.  The spellcaster let out a cry, beckoning the earth to aid her. Roots shot out from the ground, slithering up the demon’s leg to pull it over.  Meanwhile, the bear druids raked deep gashes into its rocky flesh. They were a miracle if he had ever seen one. Horace let loose a battle cry as it was forced down, dashing towards the head to sever it.

It was a poor choice, to say the least.  The hand of the infernal hit his sword arm as he swung the blade, yanking it forward and taking the armor clean off.  All that remained was a nasty burn on his exposed skin. Not even his chainmail undershirt had stopped the flames from searing into the flesh.  While-hot agony lanced through him, a scream escaping his lips. 

Sir Arthur replaced him as executioner, his father catching him as he staggered.  He struggled to breath normally, adrenaline and pain the only things keeping him moving as he and the others dashed to the portal Natalie was pouring every ounce of her mana into.  They were the last to go through, with Natalie bounding in behind them and sealing the passage shut.

Their destination ended up being the top floor of the Mage Tower.  Horace saw Saskia taking care of her exhausted girlfriend, handing her water and holding her so she could sit up.  Crammed into the corner were Darcy and the two gryphons, who would have one hell of a time getting out of there. The druids were absent from the scene; Horace could only hope that they had simply gone on to fight more demons.

He grit his teeth and whimpered as Sir Arthur tried to use the Light to mend his arm.  After a minute with no progress, the man gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m a fighter, not a healer.  He needs a priest.” Standing, he helped to lift Horace onto his feet again. It was a long, slow walk to the Cathedral, with many shaken refugees following.  They needed the solace of the Light’s presence after what they had been through. He was laid out flat on his back for the priest, whom he recognized as Brother Sarno, to tend to him.  The healing stung just as badly, making him tremble, yet he managed to stay silent. Real men didn’t made a peep when they were wounded. On top of that, he still didn’t have his vocal augment, so each sound was high-pitched and very much  _ not  _ him.

Though most of the burned area mended well under the Light’s touch, a bandage was wrapped around it to protect what needed to be left to his body to manage.  The whole ordeal rendered him so exhausted he couldn’t bring himself to move at all, his almond eyes growing bleary. Not long after he was helped out of his armor and wrapped up in a warm blanket, he was slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 


	2. The Pink Slip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited 5/16/18: took out the part about saskia's cache and horace's new armor and reworked it later in the story

 

He was roused by his mother running her fingers through his raven hair.  Emma smiled down at him. “How is my brave young man feeling?”

Returning the smile with his own sloppy grin, he replied, “Much better.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  Your father and sisters will be, as well, and Sir Arthur.”

The name made his stomach twinge.  “Is he mad at me?”

“Protocol states that you are in a whole heap of trouble, but no; not as mad as I could be, anyhow.”  The man himself strode up as he spoke, kneeling next to his cot with a small burlap bag, which he placed on the ground.  “Here are some things I’m sure you’re wanting for. The priests will be serving everyone breakfast soon.”

“You are too kind,” Emma said.

Horace wriggled upright to examine the bag’s contents.  There was the vocal augment, a a little crystal attached to a small chain.  He immediately put it on with a hum and ah, yes, that was better. Much more like him.  “Thank you, sir.” The binder would wait until he knew if he would be in armor or not. He swallowed thickly, scratching the back of his head.  “I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have ran off like that.”

A chuckle came from his mentor; an unexpected reaction, to say the least.  “You ended up saving two dozen civilians and gave them hope they did not have before.  That is apology enough for me. Commander Shadowbreaker will undoubtedly feel different.”

“I can’t wait.”

The moment was interrupted by a certain ginger rogue strolling up.  “ _ You _ have an admirer,” Saskia announced.  She handed him an envelope, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

He ran his fingers over the wax seal.  It was deep blue, with the lion sigil imprinted in it.  The thing seemed almost too pretty to break, but he did, and read the note inside:

_ Esteemed paladin, _

_ Your company is requested for lunch today, at noon, in the Keep of Stormwind.   _

_ Sincerely, _

_ ALW _

Very fancy.  Very unexpected.  “Uh…” Then it hit him: these were the king’s initials.  “Wow.”

“Right?” Saskia said.  She gave him a good-natured bump with the back of her hand.  “Just made sure you take a bath beforehand; you still smell like brimstone.”

Luckily, he was able to head back to the paladin’s barracks after breakfast.  The place was virtually deserted, so he took his time scrubbing away the filth that had been crusting over all night.  Saskia had gifted him with a bar of sandalwood soap because, according to her, plain soap smelled gross and he deserved better.

Just as the invitation asked, he showed up at the Stormwind Keep’s gardens a tad shy of noon.  He felt reborn with his clean clothes and skin. She’d been right about the soap smelling better; it even made him feel a little rich.

Waiting around frayed his nerves, especially since he did not know what to expect.  He found himself fidgeting, glancing around every few seconds. The guards seemed to take no notice of his predicament.  Even if they did, it wouldn’t show through their helmets. Chances were, they would tell their friends and laugh about it at the tavern later on.

He finally appeared after what seemed to be an eternity.  “My apologies. The meeting went longer than expected.” Shaking Horace’s hand, he added, “It is a pleasure to meet you officially, Sir Lin.”

_ Sir _ Lin.  Horace could feel his color rising.  “T-the pleasure is all mine.” Was that the right thing to say?  He had no idea if he was being too informal.

In the gentle autumn sunlight, he could see how stark the veins were against the white of his eyes, how his irises were foggy and pale, the way his skill was blotched and his nose red.  He had no idea how the new king was managing to maintain his composure right now, but he hoped that he had at least had a shoulder to cry on.

“I must admit, seeing you take such action at the risk of your career and your life was… inspiring,” Anduin told him, letting slip a lopsided, sunny smile.  “Please, join me.”

The two went to what was apparently called “the drawing room.”  Already there were Saskia and Natalie. He still had yet to come across a reason why Saskia, the weapon’s smuggler, was even allowed near royalty, but he did appreciate both of them being there.  It would keep things from getting awkward. On the other hand, he liked that brief moment where he had the full attention of a very attractive man. A cup of what he thought at first was wine, but turned out to be moonberry juice, was given to him.  It was cold, lightly sweet, and, thankfully, non-alcoholic.

“Saskia filled me in on the events in Westfall,” Anduin prompted.  He had a bright, hopeful sort of look on his face. Or maybe Horace was just imagining it.

“Yeah, he was pretty badass,” Saskia said around a mouthful of jam-covered bread.  “When that infernal made him eat dirt he didn’t even hurl.”

Horace laughed awkwardly, taking another sip of juice.  “I just did what I was trained to do.”

“But it was so cool!”  Natalie leaned forward in the plush armchair she had been relaxing in.  “For a moment there it looked like you sprouted wings. Gave me chills.”

Though he was blushing again, he enjoyed the compliments and the enthusiasm.  Natalie was recounting the event in the same way he described the skill of his superiors in letters home to his family.  It had his chest swelling with pride, and for the rest of their time together, he was floating on a cloud.

*

His sisters wasted no time asking him how it went, what the King was like, how fancy the keep was.  “Was he cute?” Izzy asked, causing Maggie to waggle her eyebrows suggestively.

He mussed her hair.  “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”  

At the entrance to the Cathedral, Sir Arthur appeared, summoning him with a wave of his hand.  Funny, it wasn’t time for drills yet. Nonetheless, Horace stood up, throwing, “He was gorgeous,” over his shoulder as he jogged over to him.

After exchanging salutes, his mentor declared, “We have been summoned to Light’s Hope Chapel.  Make preparations, we need to leave by week’s end.”

Horace’s eyebrows shot up.  “I-I thought that paladins were needed for Stormwind’s defense.”

“Yes, but we are not those paladins.”  The knight sighed. “I understand that leaving your family is difficult.  Rest assured, they are safe here, and you will still be able to write them.”

“Thank you sir.  I’ll inform them, by your leave,” he stammered.

“Very well.  Dismissed.”

He turned on heel and made to go find his mother, but stopped dead in his tracks.  His sisters had heard. They stared at him, expressions pained. Behind them, setting down a basket of clothes she had volunteered to mend, was Emma.

His mother strode over and hugged him as tightly as she could, kissing his temples while his father and sisters embraced them both.  “I’m glad we at least get some time with you,” she rasped, tears slipping down her face. “It’s still hard to hear that my baby’s going into danger.”

Horace put on his most reassuring face.  “Don’t worry about me. Squires aren’t assigned to much.  And I promise, I’ll keep you updated on everything that’s going on.”

Emma ran her thumbs back and forth across his cheeks.  “You grew up too fast.” There was a bittersweet gleam in her eyes that lingered for a few more moments.  Then she smoothed his unruly hair and said, “Well, let’s make this week a good one,” and that usual smile was back, like it had never left.

*

Saskia was adamant about not attending church.  Which wasn’t unusual, only this time Anduin had personally asked if she would attend, and she turned him down flat.  “I, uh… got stuff to do,” was all the excuse she’d given before strolling casually away. It made all three of them very suspicious.  She’d vanished without a trace after that, leaving Darcy to snooze by the lake.

“Honestly, as long as it’s not illegal, I’m fine with whatever she’s up to,” Natalie remarked.  “She’s been really good lately about not getting into shady deals, but...”

“Don’t worry,” Anduin assured her, “when she agreed to work for me, I snuck it into her contract.”

That had been six and a half days ago.  Natalie appeared increasingly worried as the days wore on, tension clear in her tight-knit brows.  There was a moment where she began to wonder if her girlfriend was in danger, and she voiced her concerns to Horace.  “She’s never been gone this long, and she  _ always _ tells me what she’s up to.  How would we even fine her?” She paused.  Suddenly, she gasped and her eyebrows shot up.  “What if she’s smuggling weapons from Gallywix again!?  I can’t possibly imagine why… maybe she’s trying to kill him now?   _ Ugh _ , why does she have to be so stressful!?”

Horace put his hands up placatingly.  “Nat, I’m sure she’s fine. Saskia’s a tough cookie, and resourceful.”

“Don’t forget sexy.”

The two turned around to see the redhead rogue standing behind them, hands on the hilts of her daggers and a grin tugging at her lips.  It took a few moments for Horace to notice that those were new weapons she had strapped to her belt. Something about them sent shivers up his spine.  He eyed them warily.

Saskia took Natalie’s hands in her own and kissed her.  “Babe, I’m so sorry I made you upset. I got permission to tell you where I’ve been, though, and I promise, it’s gonna knock your socks off.”  Excitement dripped off every word.

At her request, they went to a quiet corner of the Blue Recluse, in the Mage Quarter.  It was a the table under the stairs that she pulled out a foreign insignia and placed it between the trio.  “I’m part of this group now--the Uncrowned--and they made me one of their heads! All that smuggling and Blacktalon work’s paid off, because I guess they’ve been watching me for a while now.”  Unbuckling one of her daggers, she set it next to the insignia and unsheathed it half-way. “They helped me liberate these puppies from Dread Captain Eliza. So, that’s where I’ve been lately. I was under strict orders to keep things on the down-low, but now that I’m a Shadow I can pick and choose who knows what.”

Natalie snorted.  “They seriously call themselves the ‘Uncrowned?’”

“Yeah, it does kinda sound pretentious, but don’t let them know I told you that.”  Saskia stashed the goods, and her face grew serious as she added, “Anduin really can’t find out about this.  I mean  _ really  _ can’t.”

“Why not?” Horace asked.  Didn’t Saskia technically work for the king?

“All I can say is: he doesn’t need to be involved.”

Suspicious, but he doubted any more information could be wrung out of her.  In all honesty, he didn’t have a vast amount of interest in all the shenanigans Saskia managed to get mixed up in.  He had plenty of other things to worry about, namely his departure to Light’s Hope Chapel today. It would be the farthest he’d ever been from home.  The move from Westfall to Stormwind had been daunting enough; now he was going all the way to the other side of the continent to help fight a demon army threatening to destroy the world.  No pressure!

Outside, he could hear the city bell begin to toll.  “Crap, I’m late!” He shotgunned the last of his coffee and dashed out the door, wishing for once that he knew how to teleport.

Sir Arthur was standing with a congregation of other paladins at the bottom of the Cathedral’s steps as Horace skidded to a stop in front of him, chest heaving from the exertion.  The paladin quirked an eyebrow at his squire. “It isn’t like you to be late,” he remarked.

“Sorry,” Horace panted.  “Coffee with friends.”

He chuckled, but his expression remained somber.  “We are due at Light’s Hope Chapel soon. Best pack your things and say your goodbyes.”

A weight settled uncomfortably in Horace’s stomach.  This was it. “Yes, sir.” He saluted, and headed up the steps of the cathedral at his mentor’s leave.

There wasn’t a whole lot to pack: his binder, his journal, a copy of compiled holy texts, and a small picture of his family.  Squires were technically forbidden material sentiments, but people always managed to hide things under the loose floorboards.

Emma Lin was fighting back tears as she embraced him tightly, and, as he hugged her back, he could feel her shoulders shaking.  “I’ll be alright, mother, I promise,” he soothed. “And I’ll write home whenever I’m able.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead, then moved to his sisters.  

“Try not to start anything while I’m gone, yeah?”  Both of them gave no promises. 

Lastly, to his father, he said, “Thank you, for everything you’ve taught me.  I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” His father was smiling sadly as they embraced, eyes red-rimmed.

Every Lin was crying except for him; he joined the other paladins before he could start, backpack with all his things slung over his shoulder as he followed Sir Arthur through the portal with one last, longing look at the city, and the life, he would be leaving behind.

*

Light’s Hope Chapel was… small.  And not very populated, considering that all of Azeroth’s paladins were supposed to be here.  Maybe they were just early? Looking around, Horace saw about twenty people in total, mostly guards.  Could everyone be behind the chapel? No, there didn’t seem to be anyone, except for the ones in the ground, at least.

Inside the little building were a few more people.  Horace immediately recognized their tabards: these were the Knights of the Silver Hand.  A chill went up his spine. He’d only read of the order in books; now he was seeing them in person.  Had he been younger and the circumstances less grim, he would have been stupid enough to ask for an autograph.

Sir Arthur stopped a bit past the threshold, a spark of Light shooting from his gauntleted hand to the floor.  There was a rumble, the grating of stone on stone, and then a large section dropped away to reveal a flight of stairs.  Without hesitation, the paladin strode down the steps, his squire a little intimidated but not far behind. Guards were stationed at the bottom, clad in Silver Hand regalia as well.

Seeing what stretched out before him stuck Horace speechless.  In the Scourge War, Arthas and his knights had attacked the humble little chapel above their heads.  This, he now realized, was what they had been after.

A grand cathedral cut deep into the mountain, a bastion of faith.  Horace could feel the sheer power of the Light here, practically see it shimmering in the air.  All around him were the Light’s defenders; he easily recognized many of Stormwind’s human paladins.  The Exodar’s draenei and Ironforge’s dwarves maintained a presence here as well, talking with Alliance and Horde alike.  Tauren towered over the rest, hammers and Light-blessed totems held firm in their hands. The Forsaken made him more uneasy than he wanted to admit, probably because he had never actually seen one before.  Was there ever such a thing as a bad-looking elf? He severely doubted it.

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw Lord Shadowbreaker instructing a group of squires.  Was the commander still mad at him for his outburst? There was a small hope that he wasn’t, but then again, this was Lord Shadowbreaker, and the man was not known for leniency.  Horace made a point of avoiding eye contact, just in case. As he passed by, he heard the man bark a particularly colorful bit of “encouragement” to a young woman.  _ Yikes _ .  Granted, the military  _ was _ designed to break people down and build them back up into competent soldiers, but that didn’t mean anyone should be called “worthless canon fodder.”  It made him grateful that he had been placed under Sir Arthur’s tutelage instead.

Speak of the devil, he was currently about ten paces ahead.  Horace ran to catch up, glad that the noise of combat disguised the clanking of his armor.

Once they entered the cathedral proper, a profound silence greeted them, so oppressive that a pin dropping would have echoed the same as a shield.  Every pew was fit to burst with people come to mourn. Tirion Fordring had been a legend, one that children like Horace had grown up being regaled stories of.  In losing him, the world had lost one of the few candles left to guide them through the darkness.

In his short seventeen years, he had never been to a funeral.  He had one grandmother currently, the rest of his grandparents having passed away before he was born.  The etiquette aspect, however, he was familiar with, however; head bowed, silent, somber.

Sir Arthur kept his voice low as they settled into the pews and began reciting prayers.  Once finished with the first verse, he leaned over to his squire, whispering, “Fair warning; Lord Shadowbreaker wishes to speak with us afterwards.”

Eating breakfast suddenly became a bad decision.  Swallowing hard, he nodded.  _ Deep breaths.  What’s the worst that can happen? _

_*_

“You have disgraced the paladin order.”

Torn between crying, throwing up, and curling up on the floor to await death, Horace stood in front of the Commander in horrified silence, with only his eyes betraying what he felt inside.  Next to him, Sir Arthur was also in a textbook attention stance, stare fixed straight ahead rather than at the furious paladin.

“There is no part of your actions that can be excused.”

Light, he really shouldn’t have jinxed it.   _ “What’s the worst that can happen?”  _ his ass.

“Sir Arthur, I would suggest looking for a new squire.”

_ There’s nothing to keep you from passing out right now,  _ his body said.   _ Just close your eyes and let it happen. _

_ Not helping, brain, _ he replied.

“You will turn in your squire’s colors immediately, and you will not seek a position amongst us again.  The Light does not need reckless fools rushing to their deaths against the Legion, it needs people willing to obey orders and fight as one.”

He desperately wanted to look to his mentor now, to see if the paladin he’d spent so long admiring would defend him.

Silence.

Even after they were dismissed, Horace refused to let himself cry.  Men didn’t cry; neither would he.

Sir Arthur placed both hands on his shoulders, and he was too numb to shrug them off.  “You have been the greatest squire I ever could have asked for. Had things been different… well, I had always been certain you would have ascended through the ranks faster than any of your peers.”

_ Former peers _ .  Meeting his gaze, he snapped into one final salute.  “Thank you, sir.” His voice was raw. Removing his colors from his armor, he placed them into Sir Arthur’s hands.

There was a portal open to Stormwind for those needing quick transportation to and from the city.  Since he didn’t have the money to travel via gryphon or even merchant’s caravan, this was the best option.  He slipped through while the guards weren’t paying attention, this time prepared for that gut-twisting sensation that came with arcane travel.

Natalie and Saskia were enjoying some time in the sunshine that warmed the newly-rebuilt park when he found them.  The mage was the first to notice him, sitting up when she saw the stagger in his step, the way he held his helmet limply in one hand.

“Woah, Horace,” she said as he sat down with a heavy thud behind the two.  “What happened? Where’s Sir Arthur?”

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.  He was a failure, a disgraced ex-paladin too tunnel-visioned to see the bigger picture.  Mostly, however, he was angry with himself, and hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he choked out the story.

There was a pause once he finished, then two pairs of arms wrapped themselves around him as he shook and sobbed.  Real men didn’t cry, but at the moment, he didn’t really feel like a real anything, so maybe it was okay.


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's just a simple farmboy from Westfall trying to provide for his impoverished family. Why can't the universe realize that?

Saskia clasped her hands together loud enough to rouse him, and she nudged him with her boot.  “Alright, buddy, I’ve given you three days to wallow in self pity, as is customary. Now it’s time for action.”

Two bleary eyes peered up at her from under the top half of a sleeping bag.  They closed as he yawned, then blinked back open. The rogue had been nice enough to let Horace stay with her after his dishonorable discharge, although it had really been more along the lines of, “You’re staying with me now, whether you like it or not.  Don’t tell Anduin!” 

“I need an assistant, and you need something to do,” she continued. 

Horace sat up, rubbing the sleep from his face.  “Why me?” he mumbled.

“Because you get shit done, dude.  I like your spark. Your first job is to get dressed and deliver these papers to Anduin.”

_ That _ got his attention.  A niggling feeling in his gut told him that she was doing this on purpose.  “A-alright.” He stood up, running a hand through his hair. A bath would probably be in order before he began.

Saskia’s accommodations in the castle was about twenty times nicer than anything he was used to, and, if he was being honest, it was a little unnerving.  No outhouse, no barracks, no sharing an ancient mattress with siblings; just a separate room for the bath and a four-poster bed big enough for two. No biggie.  

He still had that sandalwood soap she’d given him, and used it liberally, scrubbing his scalp until it was squeaky-clean.  Thankfully, his hair was manageable enough that simply towelling it dry was all the effort he needed to put into it. Not that he was very inclined to style it in the first place.

Clean clothes had been folded on the bed for him when he emerged from the bathroom, and Saskia was gone.  Donning the garb, he paused to consider himself in the mirror. A deep breath steeled his nerves, and he picked up the envelopes lying on the desk, then exited the room.

Stormwind Keep was a marvel to look at from the outside, but the inside was even more spectacular.  Paintings and tapestries of kings and queens past lined the halls, their stern regality bearing down on all who passed by, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows every few feet, so that the sunlight bathed the endless hallway carpet in a constant golden glow.  It took a few moments of strolling around and gawking before he realized that he had zero idea where the king would be. His face flush with anxiety, he decided to hunt down a guard.

“Um… excuse me, sir,” he called to the first one he found.  The guard turned to him, helmet obscuring his gaze, and Horace suddenly felt very small and  _ goddammit, he’d forgotten his necklace again _ .

He cleared his throat and made an effort to deepen his voice as he presented the papers to the guard.  “My name is Horace Lin, assistant to Saskia Rastout. I was ordered to deliver these papers to the king.”

One of the envelopes was taken by the guard to inspect.  He studied the seal closely and, once satisfied that it was legitimate, nodded and returned it to Horace.  “Follow me.”

At every turn he made a mental note to remember which way he had gone, because it’d be just luck to get lost on the way back to the room.  After several twists and turns filled with awkward silence, they arrived at two simple wooden doors. The guard banged the knocker against the wood a few times, waited a moment, then opened one of them.

“An assistant of Agent Rastout, my lord,” he announced.  He moved to let Horace pass, then stood at attention, watching.

Horace hoped to the Light he wasn’t blushing, because he was too gay and too weak to be around this man.  Bowing, he took another deep breath and held the papers out to him.

Anduin’s eyebrows raised a little in not unpleasant surprise.  “Ah, Horace, right? Hello again.”

_ He remembered me! _  “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

There was that little smile again.  “Just Anduin’s fine.” He took the files and set them on top of the stack on his desk.  “Thank you for these; I’ll finally be able to stop hounding Saskia for more frequent reports.”  Quirking his expression, he added, “How did you manage to find time to work for her on top of paladin training?”

And there it was, the question that he’d rather be beat over the head with an ettin’s tree-trunk club than face.  “I… um… it’s not too bad. Brings in some extra income for the family. I’ve certainly gotten better at multitasking.”  He wasn’t lying, necessarily, at least about the income part. Squire compensation was paltry at best.

“I can imagine.”  The two lingered there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before Anduin finally gestured to his paperwork.  “Apologies, but…”

“Ah, I’m sorry!  I don’t meant to keep you.”  Holy Light, he was an awkward man.

“No, no, it’s fine, really.  Um, thank you, again. Tell Saskia I said hello.”

Horace tapped his fingers to his forehead in an informal salute.  “Will do. Good day, Anduin.”

“And to you.”

The instant he was back in his and Saskia’s shared room, he face-planted on her bed and yelled into her pillow.

 

Under the patchy shade of an oak tree, the sun’s rays felt more soothing than burning.  Natalie sat with her back up against its sturdy trunk, her sweetheart’s head in her lap, and threaded her fingers through that long, ginger hair.  Saskia wasn’t partial to wearing it down like this unless she had the day off or it was giving her a headache; today was thankfully the latter. Laying with her legs splayed out in front of her, with the gentle rhythm of her scalp massage, she could have drifted off without a second thought.  She stayed awake mostly because she loved hearing about Natalie’s adventures in mage apprenticeship. Also, there was a massive blue proto-drake breathing heavily behind her head.

“And so he added Sungrass to the mixture, and the whole thing exploded!  He was covered in gooey invisibility potion. Kinda looked like a wet cat.”

The girls giggled at the image.  “Did you get gooed too?” Saskia asked.

“No, I hid behind a support beam.  Those reflex exercises you gave me are finally paying off.”

“Happy to be of service,” she drolled.  “And those trinkets I gave you last week work?”

Natalie nodded.  “Not exactly sure what their full potential is, but the tests I ran proved that they can protect against damage to a moderate extent.”

“Excellent, excellent.”

“So, when’s your next big assignment?  Anduin always seems to have something for you.”  Natalie suppressed a yawn, rolling her head around languidly.

Saskia hummed.  “Actually, he’s going to a meeting with his advisors that I need to accompany him at.  For intimidation purposes, probably.”

She covered a laugh with her hand.  “Probably. Will Jaina be there?”

“Not if Anduin hasn’t apologized to her yet.  He’s still too stubborn to admit she was right.”

Natalie sighed, staring out over the lake.  “I hope she’s okay. She deserves better than what she’s gotten.”

“Like Kalecgos?” she teased.

“The leader of the Kirin Tor should have a man who respects and cherishes her, not that pompous overgrown lizard.”

Natalie’s thoughts on the blue dragonflight’s patron never failed to crack Saskia up.  The mage was right, of course; from the few times she had observed Kalec in Pandaria, he did give off the “pompous lizard” vibe.

She was still lost in a fit of laughter when her girlfriend leaned down and kissed her nose.

*

Saskia tuned out most of the meeting, choosing to slice a fruit into bite-size pieces while working on her latest sketch, perched in the rafters directly above the war table.  

“Agent Rastout, the files, if you will,” Anduin called.

Careful not to move from the shadows, she dropped down a manilla envelope to him that he caught without even looking.  A smirk splayed out on her face as the king’s advisors stared up at the ceiling, trying to find her. She wished them luck.

“In addition to sending the 7th Legion infantry,” Anduin continued, “I will be sending Agent Rastout to do reconnaissance in Stormheim.  She is very familiar with the vrykul, which I believe will prove useful in the coming months.”

This was news to her.  Would have been nice to know  _ before _ the meeting started, but she could roll with it.

“Aye, current intelligence pegs them as trying to join the Burning Legion,” added an advisor, a heavily-armored dwarf with a face as wrinkled as it was scarred.

Fuck.  Saskia put away her sketchbook and slung her bag over her shoulder, hopping down from her perch to land in a crouch on the center of the table.  “The vrykul of Northrend sought to regain the immortality the curse of flesh took away from them,” she said, glancing up at the advisors. There was an old and elegantly-dressed draenei there that she recognized as none other than the Prophet Velen himself.  Had she not spent as much time as she had around royalty, she would have been stunned into silence. Now he was just another stuffy old noble. “Only the insurmountable losses they sustained during the Scourge War deterred them from that goal. With the right words, I just might be able to convince them to join us in defeating the Legion.”

Anduin quirked an eyebrow at her.  “Who do you have in mind?”

“King Drogol was elected to rule the vrykul after the bulk of your forces left the continent.  I can talk him into sending some jarls to our aid.”

The same dwarf cut in before he could reply.  “How does the king’s spy know those brutes?” he growled.

At her hips, the Dreadblades itched to be unsheathed.  “I was raised amongst them,” she returned, leaving an unmistakable warning in her tone.

“And ye trust her!?”  The dwarf turned to Anduin, gesturing vaguely in her direction.

“Saskia has proven to be nothing but loyal to our cause, and a valuable asset.”  Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, “As we have seen before, the vrykul are relentless in combat.  Having them on our side is certainly better than them fighting us.”

“Bet her looks don’t hurt, either.”

“Ew,” Saskia muttered, just as Anduin let out an offended noise.  She noticed his face get a little paler, too. Time to intervene a bit.  Scratching her chin, she exaggerated looking him up and down, face askew, then flapped her hand nonchalantly.

A couple glances shot her way, and with that, she stood up straight and hopped down from the table.  “Imma get ready for the mission.” She clasped Anduin’s shoulder, pausing for a breath to wink. He gave her a grateful nod in return.  Poor guy; so many concerns, so little time. She wished him luck fighting off the nobles once she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, both young men won't see each other for a while, but that doesn't mean they still won't be thinking about one another B)


	4. Go To Hell!

Stormheim was cold and wet.  Not in the nice way that Elwynn got sometimes, where dew settled on the grass and the chilly air made running drills more bearable to sweat through.  Every square inch of land was soggy, and the wind was cold and thin and seemed to go right through his bones.

“Just like home,” Saskia sighed.  Hands on her hips, she stared out at the valley below, observing a herd of elk graze.

Horace wondered if her home had the same sense of ominous dread hanging in the air.  It was as if some… force… lurked just under the surface, watching. Waiting. He pulled his cloak tighter around him.

This wasn’t exactly the work he had been hoping for.  He missed the paladin order dearly. Now, despite still having his friends and family, he felt alone.  He remained part of something greater than himself, but now it was much less obvious.

“Our first priority is to establish contact with the vrykul.”  Her words startled him out of his reverie.

Right.  Saskia’s people, at least partly.  “I’ll let you do the talking.”

The rogue snorted.  “You’re not very sure of yourself, are you?  They’ll notice that. Gotta swagger, make yourself look intimidating.”  She smirked. “Theatrics are a bonus.”

“They can smell my fear?” Horace joked.

Saskia leaned towards him and took a long, loud whiff.  “Yup, smells fear-y.”

He blew a raspberry at her, folding his arms across his chest and turning back towards the valley.  “Where are they? I only see tauren in that valley.”

She tossed him her spyglass.  “Look to the far side, just before the sea.”

And there they were, still but ants despite the telescope’s magnification.  “We’ll go to them, then?”

“Hell no,” she replied.  “They’ve already joined the Legion.  Our target’s south of here, in a village called Hrydshal.”

Horace collapsed the spyglass, blinking to readjust his vision.  Staring out at such a vast, wild land, he suddenly felt small and insignificant.  No painter could do this place justice.

“My dad told me about this place, when I was little,” Saskia said.  A fond gleam appeared in her eyes. “A vrykul wishing to dedicate themself to Lord Odyn had to prove their valor, might, and will through a series of trials.  Those who passed could ascend to the Halls of Valor to fight eternal at his side.”

A certain sinking feeling settled in his gut.  “Is there another reason we’re here, Saskia?” He already knew the answer, deep down, but he wanted her to say it.

She nodded slowly.  “If you want to join me, I am going to attempt the trials.  If not, you can take my hearthstone back to Stormwind.”

Incredulity slumped his shoulders.  “Why couldn’t you have told me that  _ before _ we left?”

“I wanted you to get a taste of this place first.”

That made sense, he supposed.  He broke his stare away from her and made his way to stand at the very edge of the cliff.  Something told him that Stormheim did not exist as a land to be conquered and pacified. It would rear its head up and fight back, beyond even its final breath.  Holy Light, would he even have the opportunity to drop out, or would he just have to die? What did the trials even consist of? Did they even let two people work together?

“We can, uh, set up camp and decide in the morning,” Saskia said, gesturing behind her.

“I’ll do it!” he declared, spinning around on his heel.  “I… will… do it.”

She quirked an eyebrow and frowned.  “You sure?”

In response, he gave an exaggerated shrug.  “Fuck it.”

A grin broke out on her face, full of pleasant surprise.  “I think we’re gonna get along really well, Horace Lin.”

*

Night elves were no problem.  Tauren were pushing it. Vrykul, however, were too damn tall.  He couldn’t properly punch one in the face should the need arise.  Very inconvenient.

Crouched next to him, Saskia was busy rooting through her pack.  They had spent the day trudging up a mountain from the rim of the valley and now, under the cover of twilight, it was time to enact their plan.  Horace scanned the perimeter of Hrydshal warily for any sign of an approaching patrol. So far, nothing, but even if there was, the duo had a pretty good hiding spot in the cluster of boulders downwind.  

“Ah!”  The redhead whipped out a thin, long rod carved in a proto-drake’s visage and held it up.  “This makes a noise that only dragons can hear. Drives them nuts.”

“What’re you going to do with it?” Horace whispered.

She turned around so that she faced the village.  “They have storm drakes inside. We’ll sneak in, blow the whistle so they won’t eat us, and then announce ourselves.”

Adrenaline began to speed up his heartbeat.  “Alright. Ready whenever you are.”

“Let’s do this.”  Securing the whistle with a leather thong,she threw her hood over her head.

Before he could stand to join her, an explosion rocked the ground beneath them.  Through the smoke, a massive harpoon launcher fell and shattered into pieces at the bottom of the wall; the silhouette of a person was engaging with several vrykul.

“Please be Horde, please be Horde,” Saskia chanted.  

A night elf dashed across the ramparts to the next harpoon launcher.  “Dammit!”

Horace’s shoulders slumped.  “Well, there goes that.”

“Okay, new plan.  Uh…” She trailed off, scratching her head sheepishly.  “You got any ideas?”

He shrugged.  “Kill demons?”

“Lin, you goddamn genius.”  She made to grab her pack, maybe take one last at their ruined plan, and got halfway there before a massive feathered figure flew up to them and screamed.

Instinct told Horace to ready his sword and shield after taking a defensive stance.  Apparently it told Saskia to punch it. It gave another shriek as it fell back, wings flailing as it hurried to right itself.  The thing was easily four times larger than any common raven, with inky black feathers that glinted violet in the light.

Now able to get a better look at it, Saskia went rigid, sucking in a breath.  “You’re--”

The raven screamed again, this time with a touch of indignance, and flapped away, leaving a few downy feathers in its wake.  She scrambled to get one, but as soon as it was in her hands, it dissolved in a pile of ash. “But… but you’re…”

“You okay?” Horace asked.  Stowing his weapons, he put a hand on her shoulder.

She ignored his question, instead electing to declare, “We gotta follow that bird!”

Keeping up to a rogue while in plate armor proved to be incredibly difficult.  And, of course, the raven was flying downhill, so all of Stormheim could watch when he fell on his face and tested out if paladins, like rocks, gathered moss.

“Wait up!” he panted.  “Why are we even chasing that stupid thing?”

Clearing a log in a single bound, she called back, “Just trust me!”  He wondered if she said that a lot.

Up ahead was a small encampment adjacent to the valley road.  Another of those ravens could be seen circling above a nice, warm fire, its feathers tinted indigo.  The rogue slid into a copse of bushes, gesturing for him to follow suit. It took considerable effort to slow down, resulting in him stumbling into the vegetation with a ruckus.  She put a finger to her lips with one hand while the other pushed aside some branches to allow a better view.

Sitting by the fire was a lone vrykul.  In his lap was the offended bird, which was being lovingly pet.  Tattoos littered his milk-pale skin, glowing an icy blue. Just as his eyes did, Horace realized; this was no ordinary vrykul.  A glance at Saskia confirmed his suspicion.

“A spellcaster,” she hissed.  “Keep your shield up.”

The man was staring right at their hiding spot.  His heart leapt into his throat.

“I see you there, little ones.”  His great, booming voice carried easily across the twenty yard gap.  “Come, enjoy some fish stew with me!”

“Do we go?” Horace asked lowly.

Saskia gave two slow nods.  Hands firmly on her weapons’ hilts, she rose.  He noticed that she was doing her best to posture and look intimidating.  Standing, he held his shield’s grips tight enough to make the leather creak, and adjusted his helm.

She took long, swaggering strides over to the camp.  “Rualg nja gabbor,” she greeted.

“And to you.”  He inclined his head respectfully.  “So, you will join me?”

“As you wish, runebinder.”

Horace’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the half-full cauldron.  The vrykul was helping himself to another bowl and gladly munching away, so it clearly wasn’t poisoned.  As soon as Saskia handed him some of his own, he dug in. Light, it tasted so good. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said.

“Ah, I always enjoy the company of strangers.  You have the best stories.”

With the white hair, long beard, and jolly tone, he reminded the paladin of a tatted-up Greatfather Winter.  He looked like he knew it, too.

“Where do travelers such as yourselves hail from?”

Quickly swallowing another bite of stew, he replied, “Stormwind.”

“Yes, I have heard of Stormwind!  You humans certainly know how to build a city.”  He glanced at Saskia, who was studying his ravens intently, meal untouched.  “I believe you hold something of power in your possession.”

She tried and failed to hide her surprise.  “I knew it; you’re no runebinder!” she accused.  “Those ravens are Hugin and Munin.”

“The story of Odyn is familiar to you, then?  Marvelous! Alas, I am but his humble servant.  I honor him and his kin, as is our way.”

“Who are you, then?  What clan do you claim?”  Yes, she appeared wary, but there was something else.  Hope? Who exactly did she think this guy was?

“My name is Havi,” he replied simply.  “I lived and practiced in Haustvald until Helya’s forces took over.”

She leaned in intently.  “The kvaldir can’t leave the shoreline.”

“That witch has more than just the souls of the damned.  I would take great care in these lands.” Bitterness dripped off his voice, and suddenly he didn’t seem like a jolly old gift-giver.  “But I sense that is not the only reason you are here.”

“We’re hunting down a witch of our own.  She’s had her army of undead harassing our forces for years,” Saskia informed him.

“Then you are familiar, at least, with the plight of the vrykul.”

“And the Legion?  How many have fallen to their promises of power?”

Havi heaved a gusting sigh.  “A great many. Yet there is resistance.”  He extended a massive finger to the south. “In Skold-Ashil, valkyra aspirants dedicate themselves to Eyir.”

Nodding slowly, Saskia grew quiet for a long moment.  By now, Horace wasn’t ravenous enough to solely dedicate his attention to his meal, and found himself unsettled by Saskia’s intenseness.  Despite her half-vrykul heritage, he had never witnessed anything truly savage or brutal from her. He wondered if that was about to change.

For the remainder of the daylight, Havi asked them for stories of the Alliance kingdoms, their battles with the Horde in particular.  When Pandaria was brought up, he became enthralled.

“These Celestials-- they are like gods?”

Saskia shrugged.  “Honestly, I have no idea, and I even met them.”

He stroked his beard, an intrigued grin on his face.  “So much has changed since the Sundering. Perhaps I should go exploring.”

Arching an eyebrow, Saskia inquired, “How old are you, exactly?”

“Old enough that it’s not nice to tease me about how old I am.”

*

They kept the fire going that night to stay the biting chill.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t Havi’s thunderous snoring that ended up keeping Horace awake.  It was his own thoughts. Up above was the same sky, the same stars that he would see in Stormwind or Westfall.  His family would be gazing up at them, too, thinking that their son was fighting as one with the world’s greatest paladins in the name of the Light.  It ached in his chest that he’d lied to them-- wait, that could also be his gambeson. He unlaced it and, nope, still hurt. 

Finally, he gave up trying to fall asleep and hauled himself upright, scrubbing at his face with a hand.  Both Saskia and Havi seemed to be asleep, and the moon was high in the sky.

The redhead rolled over and sat up soon after he did, however.  “I know he’s lying about who he is,” she muttered. Resting elbows on her knees, she turned her head to look at him.  “You’re crying.”

Oh, fuck.  He hadn’t even noticed.  The tear that slid down his face had already grown ice cold by the time he sheepishly brushed it away.   “Sorry.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you crying?” she asked.

He inhaled deeply, exhaling in a whoosh.  “I need to tell my family I was kicked out.”  They would be heartbroken, he knew; as heartbroken as when he had left.

“Yeah.”

“I can’t bring myself to do it,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair.  “Things have been so bad since the Cataclysm. I enlisted in the order only because I was too young to join the army, and being a squire paid.  Not much, but we were desperate. My sisters…” His voice cracked. “I was tired of watching them go hungry at night.”

Saskia’s face grew somber.  “I know how you feel,” she replied, voice gentle.

“They were so proud that I was dedicating myself to the Light, even if meant losing a hand on the farm.”

“You don’t want to disappoint them.”

“Never.”

“I get it--being desperate.”  Her eyes moved to the fire. “Same thing happened to me after the Scourge War.  I did  _ a lot _ of very stupid and very illegal shit to make end’s meet.”  The two of them chuckled softly. “But you’re still on a good path.  This gig’s gonna put you in a lot of dangerous situations, but you come out of them a kinda unsung hero.  They’ll definitely still be proud of you.”

Hearing that lifted his spirit a little.  He had stopped crying a while ago, and now his eyes were sore and ready to close.  He shot a smile at her. “Thanks, Saskia.”

“Glad to be of service.”

*

Fog and rain made for an interesting weather combination.  Horace could tell that water was falling from the sky and getting in his eyes, but beyond that?  Zilch. It was probably just a marine layer that needed to burn off, like in Stormwind. His compass would get a lot of use today, though.

“Prior intelligence said that Sylvanas vanished right before her flagship was attacked.  Nathanos Blightcaller’s leading the Forsaken, but I guess even he doesn’t know where she is,” Saskia had said over breakfast.  Havi had offered them the reheated remains of the fish stew, which ended up tasting way fishier than would normally be edible. Still, it was food, so down the gullet it went.

“We’ll need to find him first,” Horace replied, and she nodded in agreement.  “Does Sylvanas have val’kyr with her?”

“Dunno.  Wouldn’t surprise me.”  The rogue puffed out a sigh.

Now that they were on the road again, he felt that he could ask, “So, what’s your deal with Havi?”

“That guy’s  _ definitely _ not some runebinder.  I’ve seen Odyn’s ravens before; that’s probably him in disguise.”  Saskia quirked a brow at his incredulous expression. “What? He’s been known to tamper with mortal affairs.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but she seemed knowledgeable on the subject, so he trusted her.  Even if he didn’t personally believe they had just spent the night in the camp of a disguised titan keeper. The leather-clad palm of his hand wiped away accumulating sweat on his brow.  Havi had marked Skold-Ashil on their map, which Horace was periodically glancing at. Couldn’t be far, maybe three miles until the bridge spanning the inlet. That would be the halfway mark.  Until then, unfortunately, it would mean trekking back up a good bit of the hill. Fantastic.

After about another hour of walking, they could see the bridge.  The fog was starting to clear up, but he still could not see what lay on the other side of the inlet.  He tore off a piece of jerky, his stomach starting to grumble again. His mother would probably make some joke about growing boys.  His sisters would warn him not to get fat.

Plate was much louder against wood than mud.  Horace forced himself not to look down at the sea below, instead focusing on the swirling carvings burned into the thick, damp wood.

“Can you read these?” he asked, the echo of his voice in the emptiness startling him.

“Kind of.  I think these are a derivative of titan symbols.  A lot of vrykul poets will have their work copied into wood and stone structures to preserve it.  It’s really pretty.”

They were three-quarters of the way across.  In the eaves of the bridge’s triangular roof, he could see crows peering down at him, their beady little eyes trying to find any food stashed on his person.  Or perhaps they saw him as the food.

Finally, by the blessing of the Light, they reached the end of the bridge.  Horace had never been happier to wobble onto the slippery grass. Now if only he could see.  It was misting heavily on this side, the thick white moisture keeping him from seeing his hand in front of his face.

In the distance, the sound of metal striking metal was heard, coupled with shouts and roars.  An eerie sense of dread tickled the hairs on the back of their necks. “Kvaldir,” Saskia hissed, drawing her daggers.  

Quickly and quietly, he drew his sword.  Knees bent, shield up, he crept forward while Saskia banked left and disappeared.  Horace became acutely aware that he had never received training on fighting opponents he couldn’t see coming.  First time for everything, he supposed. Nevertheless, his heart still pounded out of his chest.  _ Get a grip, Lin _ .

Out of the mist, a sword thrust out.  He yelped and raised his shield to deflect it, narrowly managing to get it up in time.  His eyes searched for Saskia and found themselves wanting. A  _ shlik _ and a head rolling to his feet, however, told him that at least she was there.  He watched in horror as the massive decapitated thing sunk into the earth, leaving behind a clump of seaweed crawling with maggots.

Steeling his nerves and his stomach, he let out a battle cry and surged forward.  The first kvaldir to fall to his blade was a spellcaster; it never saw him coming.  Thrusting his shield into the air, he called upon the Light to bless the ground beneath him, and watched as it shimmered in a ring around where he stood.  Kvaldir let loose blood-curdling shrieks as their feet burned. Seizing the opportunity, he launched himself on the next target, bashing it backwards before slicing a clean arc down its abdomen.

The vrykul being attacked by these demons were thankfully starting to notice that Horace and Saskia were on their side.  They cried out with renewed vigor at these incoming allies, and the air surrounding him crackled with energy. Yet when he cut down one of the monstrous things, three more appeared; someone was calling in reinforcements.  Clearly a spellcaster, or else they would have been attacking him earlier.

He waded through the battle, trying to find the culprit.  Saskia was abruptly thrown past him by another opponent, landing outside the fading circle of consecration.  Before he could scramble to her aid, she was on her feet again and stabbing the eye out of her target. “I’m counting twenty-three of them,” she called to him, “and five of us!”

Well, shit, they were doomed.  And he hadn’t even kissed a boy yet.  Yet, despite the hopeless odds, he felt determined to keep going.  “Let’s take down as many of these fuckers as we can, then,” he ground out.

The redhead let out a whoop.  “That’s the spirit!” she replied as her steel-toed boot collided with a kvaldir kidney.  Or, where its kidney would have been, anyways.

Personally, Horace was counting way more than twenty-three.  Or maybe he was just disoriented from the mist. She was right about there being only five on their side.  One appeared right in front of his face and screamed. Horace nearly passed out from the smell of its breath, but still managed to smash its face in.

To his side, something grey and white flashed by.  It was too far into his periphery to discern what exactly it was, but it was definitely too big to be a kvaldir.  His heart skipped a beat when he heard Saskia shout, “Val--” before she was cut off.

Veterans of the Scourge War had told the paladin squires about the Lich King’s val’kyr.  They were malicious, terrifying things of pure unholy energy, their sole purpose to raise the dead into twisted, corrupted abominations.  Few ever survived an encounter with one. Those who did were not the same.

Breath coming in quick, shallow gasps, he turned in place, trying to find where it was.  For that matter, where Saskia was. He couldn’t even see her on the ground nearby. The remaining vrykul had vanished as well; he was alone.

“Blessed Light, breaker of shadows, guide the blade of your humble servant,” he whispered, and called upon the Light once more to drive back the mist.  It dispersed as if struck by a gust of wind, and for a brief moment he could see the swarm of kvaldir encroaching on him. Their numbers had nearly doubled since Saskia’s head count.  On the ground, he could see five dead vrykul.

Behind him, he felt a strong burst of air rush past, carrying with it the ghastly stench of decay.  He gagged and coughed, terror gripping his chest as he realized the val’kyr was right behind him. It wailed in his ear until his head spun, then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot's moving forward, lads. if you read all the way through i'd sincerely appreciate it if you left kudos! can i just say that it's tough for fanfic writers to get any credit for work that isn't smut or just straight up pwp? cuz tbqh, it really is. ok i'm done whining now.  
> i'm doing my best to crank out enough story to catch up with current lore before patch 7.3 releases so i won't be even farther behind canon, so updates will be more frequent.


	5. The Evil Seaweed Men of Death

The first things he realized upon coming to was that he was  _ freezing _ .  When he sat up, the ribs that had sustained the brunt of his fall spasmed angrily, prompting him to suck in a breath to fight off the wave of dizziness.  Otherwise, he was uninjured. Now, the only question remained: where was he?

Breath clouding in the air, he gazed around, shaking from more than just the chill.  Splayed out in front of him was a sea of bones, some piled up higher than his head. Bilge stagnated in places where they weren’t piled as high.  Salt tinged the frigid air, but there was no ocean to be seen in any direction. Worst of all were the specters. They screamed at him to get out, but they still sounded so far away, voices garbled and rattling.  As soon as he turned his head to get a better look at one, it vanished, leaving not a single trace that it was ever there.

A hand grabbed onto his wrist, eliciting a shout.  He scrambled back as he saw the withered flesh clinging to a disconnected arm sticking out of the soil, launching a blast of Light at it.  The thing snapped back, then curled in on itself and went still.

To his side, he heard someone whimper his name.  He turned to find Saskia staring at him, pressed up against a boulder, hugging her knees to her chest.  She looked like she had been awake not much longer than he had. “Are you hurt?” she whispered. Yet even her smallest voice echoed cacophonously off the unseen walls.

“Just the usual,” he replied.  A few steps later and he was huddled by her side.

“Me too.”  She dug her fingers into her legs.  “Horace, we’re in Helheim.”

He swallowed, then took a deep breath.  “How do we get out of here?”

She slowly shook her head.  Tears began to well up in her red-rimmed eyes.  “I don’t know if we can.”

Horace ran a hand down his face.   _ Okay, stay calm, Lin.  The Light is on your side, you can do this.  Just don’t be stupid about it. _  He took a moment to compose himself, resting his head against the cold, wet rock and focusing on his breath.

“I’m sorry, Horace,” Saskia rasped.  “I’m so sorry I brought you along.”

If he was being honest, he was sorry that he’d agreed to come.  “Can’t give up, Saskia,” he said aloud.

“There’s nothing we can do.  Helya doesn’t let anyone out except to attack the living.”  She sniffled. “We’re trapped.”

Sheer, stubborn denial prevented him from believing her.  “I’m going to search every inch of this place for a way out before I’ll agree with that.  Come on, we have to try.” He flipped open her satchel and began rummaging through it, eventually procuring a length of rope.  “Here, we can tie this around our bag loops so we don’t get separated.”

He hauled her to her feet despite her initial lack of willpower.  Rope secured, he took a few tentative steps forward, being mindful of more skeleton hands lurking.  Luckily, the val’kyr had not taken away his weapons, and he held them at the ready, even if he didn’t see anything.  His hair stood on end at every subtle hiss, every squelching step in the loam he heard that was not his own. Whatever was lurking here clearly did not want to be seen, only heard, to better toy with his mind.  He hated that it was working so well.

At this point, his map was useless.  He pulled his compass out of his satchel to try and orient himself, only to find the needle spinning round and round until it blurred.  So he decided to just walk forward, and hope that wherever he ended up would prove helpful.

Saskia stumbled along behind him, holding her head in quaking hands.  He glanced back at her at random intervals to make sure that she was still following, or, at least, responsive.  The voices were getting to her, too; he could see her wide eyes darting in every direction.

A low growl abruptly echoed, going straight to his teeth and giving them a good shake.  He had a better idea now of what a kvaldir sounded like: not quite human, but not quite beast, disjointed and gurgling.  Like a drowning sailor. 

“Get ready, Saskia,” he said.

A heartbeat later, they appeared.  He grit his teeth as the first one slammed into him and leaned into the blow.  A step to the side, and he shoved the attacker away, then brought his sword through his middle.  It fell away in a heap of brine-soaked kelp, and he moved on. The rope was a bit of a poor choice in terms of staying together, but as Horace noticed a kvaldir charging Saskia while she stood there, frozen, he was able to yank on it and force her out of the way of its path.  She staggered towards him but managed to keep her footing, bringing her daggers up instinctively.

“The Light shall burn you!” he roared, and sliced at the legs of another.  In the wake of his blade, the Light shimmered and sparked against the rusted metal it struck.  The kvaldir cried out and fell, legs rendered useless, and Horace went for the kill.

He pulled Saskia to his side and held his shield up.  “You need to fight with me; I can’t keep doing this.” Yet she continued staring at the ground.

Consecrating the area around him, he cut down the last of the kvaldir with quick thrusts and slashes.  He didn’t bother to wipe clean his blade yet; it would be getting lots of use before he had the chance to rest.  

_ You have a gift _ .

The first coherent voice he had heard thus far; it stopped him dead in his tracks.  “Who said that?”

_ Come to me, mortal. _

“Saskia, do you hear that voice?” he asked, turning to her.  She swung her head slowly from side to side. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

Some… force… was tugging at him, pulling him in another direction.  He had felt a similar feeling when he prayed in church; it had had more of an enveloping sensation than wanting him to go a certain path.  Whether this was a force of good or evil, however, he did not know. But he had a sneaking suspicion that the voice was not from the latter.

His connection to the Light was significantly weaker down here.  It left a void in his soul. If he stared down at his body for long enough, he could even imagine that he was getting a little transparent.  A side effect of being drug into the depths of hell, probably. He hoped that it would go away soon.

_ Make haste. _

There it was again.  His feet began to splash in deeper puddles of bilge.  Bones of humans turned to bones of ships, ribs arcing out of the soil.  The slime coating them shone in the dim light.

_ Ready yourself. _

The tule fog blanketed his world in disorienting white.  Likely, there would be more kvaldir waiting.

Then he saw it: a spellcaster, mist billowing off its zombified form.  It held aloft a lantern emanating a dim green light. A cage, half-sunk into the ground, held something glowing and golden inside that was slowly turning sickly and bluish.  It took Horace a moment to realize that it was a val’kyr.

Saskia sucked in a breath.  “No…” Her voice trembled as much as she did.

The val’kyr was grasping the bars of the cage to anchor herself as her body convulsed with each inch the corruption spread.  She raised her head, and, despite her helm covering her eyes, he could tell she was gazing right at him. Agony bared her teeth, and she mouthed a single word, “Please.”

Horace twirled his sword around and advanced on the spellcaster.  “You know, I’m getting real tired of you assholes.” Light, that was so snappy.  He should do that more often.

The rope tying the two companions together was abruptly cut, and a ginger blur launched herself past him at the spellcaster.  He followed suit, but Saskia had already done most of the work for him. A quick poke in the eye from his blade, and the kvaldir was toast.  Its lantern landed on the ground and the glass shattered.

The prisoner collapsed with a gasp, convulsing one last time before she went still.  It was several long moments before she placed one hand on her stomach, using the other to push herself up.  “You have my thanks, mortals,” she panted, her arm shaking as she struggled to support her upper body. “Now, use the waylight to break my bonds.”

He scratched the back of his head.  “Uh… that wasn’t the lantern, was it?”

“Yes.  Hold it aloft and infuse it with Eyir’s light.”

All three descended into awkward silence as Horace picked up the metal remains of the waylight.  “That is useless,” the val’kyr finally stated. “You must find another.”

“Where?”  This seemed to be an object of relative significance; they would not be easy to come by.

“Find another mistweaver,” she urged, “and hurry.  Your time before Helya takes notice is limited.”

Saskia blanched at that name.  “And when she does?”

“Pray that you do not have to find out.”

The pace was set at a brisk trot.  If the kvaldir spellcasters manipulated the atmosphere around them, then they would just have to go where the fog was densest.  Unfortunately, in addition to it being gloomy, it was also dark, meaning that they tripped over their fair share of debris sticking out of the ground.  Torches were out of the question; they would be spotted in an instant. So the best option was to simply be careful and rely on their crummy night vision.  Of all the times to not be an elf.

When the two of them did find one, it was not alone.  Horace provided ample cover for Saskia with his flashy spells while she snuck around and picked off the guards.  Finally, he was able to sling his shield at the mistweaver’s head, using the Light to recall it. This time, Saskia was right behind it as it fell, and caught the waylight before it could shatter.

“That was surprisingly easy,” Horace remarked.  Of course, now that he’d said that, Murphy’s Law was sure to take notice and bring an entire ship down on his head.

She was still waiting for them when they returned, kneeling with her head bent.  A typical prayer pose of most paladins; Horace wondered who she was praying to. Inhaling deeply, he held the waylight in front of the cage.  The Light welled up inside him, and he coaxed it towards the wick inside the glass. It ignited, only this time, it radiated a peaceful golden warmth.  The brine-encrusted bars dissolved as the rays touched it, taking with it the remains of the valkyr’s corruption. She stepped out and rose to her full height, towering above the two, her wings stretched to their full span.

“I am in your debt, mortals,” she sighed.

“We need to get back to the surface,” Horace explained, lowering the waylight.  “Can you get us there?”

Much to his chagrin, she shook her head.  “I alone lack the strength. Free my sisters, however, and our combined might will sustain your journey.”

Traveling with a valkyr would normally have rocked his world, but now it just made the paladin nervous.  She was a beacon of light in a dim wasteland. Not very helpful when they wanted to remain undetected, but she could probably also punch him ten feet into the earth, so he acquiesced.  “Alright, follow us.”


	6. Probably Shouldn't Enter This One In The Science Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, more on natalie. i have big plans for her!

Truthfully, Natalie was not quite sure why they had allowed her an entire section of the laboratory to herself, but she was thrilled.  The average apprentice was only allowed to assist or observe experiments here, but the Council had seemed very interested in her proposed work.  Their only condition was that she had to have a Kirin Tor mage supervising her.

She held the tray carefully in her hands, keeping an eye on its contents as well as the floor below her.  Never know when a stray sheaf of parchment or manuscript would make you slip.  “Sir Terras?  Are you here?” she called.

From the mountains of books hobbled an older gentleman, his massive, round glasses making him out to be more owl than gnome.  “Ah, good morning young miss!  Can I help you find anything?”  Pushing his spectacles further up his nose, he spotted the tray.  “Tea and biscuits; you must want a favor.”

“I need a supervisor for my lab work.  Only for an hour or so.”  She flashed her sweetest smile.

“Well, since you were so kind about asking…”

Natalie led the way to the space reserved for her.  While Terras made himself comfortable in a high-backed chair by the window, she took her time organizing and reorganizing her supplies.  Within five minutes, the librarian was snoring.  Now the real work could begin.

Her mentor, Lyrius, never let her use the scribe spell to take notes.  It made casting it now so much more satisfying.  “The date is September 8th, time is 6:54 a.m.  Subject is adult male nazrethim, commonly named ‘dreadlord.’  Dead, fel-corrupted.  Preparing for autopsy.”

Sneaking the corpse inside the laboratory had been challenging.  Any mage could have sensed the invisibility and levitation spells she had cast while hauling it here and gotten suspicious, but luckily she had been able to go in the dead of night to get it.  The Kirin Tor had approved the dissection of demons for the sole purpose of learning about how their anatomies were affected by fel; that, however, was only a smaller piece of Natalie’s plan.  She wanted to go deeper, to see if the vile substance could be cleansed from a body.  Many had tried on the battlefield, but their patients had almost always succumbed, unless the exposure had been very minimal.  Like when Horace had been struck on the arm by an infernal.  The damage was surface-level at best.

Rumor had it that the former Warchief, Vol’jin, had died from being impaled by a legionnaire’s fel-tainted weapon.  It had occurred to Natalie that maybe it had just hit too vital of an organ, or they had left the weapon in the entry point for too long, but then she reminded herself that Anduin had survived  _ all _ his vital organs, and bones, being squished.  The fel had done the Warchief in, and she wanted to figure out how it could be prevented in the future.

A while back, she had been fortunate enough to observe multiple surgeries during a visit to First to Your Aid, in Dalaran’s Magus Commerce Exchange.  Though her understanding of the methods used was base, she garnered enough information to know where to start.  She slipped on gloves and covered her mouth with a cloth mask before dipping a cotton ball in a dish of antiseptic.  Several more were rubbed across the nazrethim’s trunk to disinfect it, all of them becoming filthy with just a few swabs.  Apparently the Legion did not make hygiene a priority.

Next came the precision knife.  The thin blade punctured between the demon’s ribcage and moved slowly downward until it reached the bottom of its abdomen.  Despite having only been dead for a day, the smell that the body released left Natalie dizzy.  She waved a hand in front of her face as she opened all the windows.  It was hard not to gag.  

The following incision was made perpendicular to the vertical one.  The stench more than anything bothered her.  Biology had always fascinated her, and this was just part of that particular area of study.  Gently, she pried apart the flesh to inspect the organs.

“Internal organs are charred and blackened,” she dictated to her scribe spell.  “Veins and arteries have a distinctly greenish tint to them.”

Behind her, on a sterile table, were a needle, tube, and vial.  She recalled watching the medics hook people up to I.V. bags, and poked around on its right arm for a good vein.  A swift poke, and she was able to extract several milliliters of blood, which she quickly capped and set back on the table.  The needle and tube were placed in a bin on the floor for later disposal.

“First blood sample has been taken.  Obtaining skin tissue sample.”

The quiet scratching of the magic quill on parchment was soothing, allowing her to clear her mind and focus.  Taking chunks of skin was, unfortunately, very similar to cutting up a piece of meat at dinner.  Natalie didn’t think she’d be in the mood for roast venison anytime soon.

Eventually, all twenty vials she had brought in for sample storage had been filled, labelled, and enchanted to preserve the specimens.  Blood, tissue, various bodily fluids, all taken from multiple parts of the body.  She would probably need another corpse at some point.  This one was becoming full of holes, which certainly wasn’t keeping it from decaying any slower.  Maybe Saskia could bring her back some fresh ones.  There was only one thing her girlfriend loved more than killing scourge, and that was killing demons.

She hoped Saskia would return from Stormheim soon.  It got lonesome in her bed without someone to curl up next to and chat with about the day.  Plus, the rogue was at Anduin’s side during important meetings between Alliance leaders, meaning that she had lots of good gossip to share.  And Natalie certainly enjoyed a juicy piece of gossip.

Now she just needed to figure out a way to keep the body frozen until she had more time to study it.  She chewed on her lip, running through the calculations for an ice block spell.  The problem was that it only lasted about thirty seconds or so, but maybe, if she slowed the casting time to allow the corpse to freeze from the inside out… 

She watched as a layer of frost radiated out from the nazrethim’s stomach.  Thirty, fourty, fifty seconds went by with no change.  Just to make sure, she froze the examination table as well.  There, that should hold.  The gloves and mask came off after she covered the body with a tarp.  A quick few wards went up to keep away any curious mages wanting to see what was underneath.  Ending the scribe spell, she shut her notebook and turned to Terras.  The old gnome was still sound asleep.

His glasses nearly fell off his face when she tapped his shoulder and roused him.  “Oh my, has it already been an hour?”

“Three, Sir Terras,” she replied.  A wave of her hand, and there was steam wafting off his tea and biscuit again.  “Thank you very much for your help, sir.”

He chuckled and hopped off the chair, holding the tray in his hands.  “Anytime, miss.  I hope you made some progress today.”

She nodded eagerly.  “Lots.  I looking forward to continuing.”

“Well, just don’t go to overboard.  You know how fussy the Council gets these days.  No need to upset them.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed reading this, i would really appreciate you leaving kudos! and, of course, critiques are always welcomed. @biggaybabadook on twitter is where i will be posting art of the totally righteous bro cast, as well as just general artwork. thank you very much for supporting my work~


	7. Saved... By The Power Of Friendship!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horace and Saskia escape Helheim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> need to get somewhere fast? just fuckin launch yourself off a cliff. fortune favors the bold.

It was a bit difficult to wrap his head around the fact that the val’kyr were paladins.  The light they wielded looked exactly like his light, felt like his, was even manipulated like his.  He yearned to just be able to sit down and pick their brains on the origins of their power, what they believed in and why, but that would obviously have to wait.  At the moment, he couldn’t afford to take concentration away from three things: hack, slash, and parry.

As he had predicted, Helya’s minions swarmed them not long after their val’kyr friend, Gudrun, stepped out of her cage.  Saskia moved in front of the weaponless val’kyr to shield her, but Gudrun surged forward moments later, overtaking Horace and leaping into the air.  When she slammed back down into the loam, she decimated a kvaldir. Before it even dissolved, she had seized its trident and twirled it into the throat of another.  Horace narrowly avoided being impaled as she thrust the trident through the skull of a mistweaver. Within less than a minute of the ambush, all the kvaldir were cut down like stalks of wheat.

Horace stared at her, wide-eyed and a tad shaken.  “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” he remarked.

Her radiant laugh echoed far louder than he was comfortable with.  “You would not get the chance to realize you had angered me before your head was above my hearth.”

“Aha, good one.”   _ Yikes _ .

Horace was tasked with carrying and using the waylight.  The second val’kyr they freed lashed out at him, corruption still stubbornly clinging to her soul.  Gudrun intervened, her large hand slamming into her chest as the imbued her sister in arms with pure holy power.  Although it worked to cleanse the battlemaiden, its brightness attracted a new swarm of kvaldir. Several mistweavers were among them; thanks to Saskia, they dropped like flies, swiftly and silently.  The rogue’s twin cutlasses seemed to thrum hungrily with each life they took, and Horace felt his suspicion about their true purpose growing. Even if she seemed to know how to use them, there was something the Light in him did not like, and he tended to trust that intuition over Saskia’s half-truths.

“Welcome back, Siggi,” Gudrun said to the newly-freed val’kyr, pulling her to her feet.

“Thank you, sister,” she replied.  Without regarding the two humans, she added, “Who are these mortals?”

“They freed me from the clutches of Helya,” Gudrun explained, “and shall do the same to the rest of our battalion.”

The woman sombered.  “Eyir willing, not all of them have succumbed.”

“Have faith, sister,” the other encouraged, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

A roar interrupted any further talk.  The four wheeled around to find yet another band of kvaldir shambling towards them.  Horace couldn’t help but let out a groan before raising his shield to block a reaver’s blade.  On the bright side, however, at least he was getting valuable combat experience. Wait, no, that was not a bright side.  That was just one more thing to add to the hellishness of this Light-forsaken place. His arms were starting to turn to jelly.

Destruction of enemy forces with two val’kyr was even easier than with one.  It offered Horace a bit of a break, even if he was still in charge of keeping the bulk of the threat directed at him.  When they finally lay in a pile of seaweed at his feet, he wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath.

After this, Horace decided that, since the kvaldir were apparently going to find them no matter what, he should strike up a conversation.  “So… Gudrun.” A sightless gaze turned to regard him. “How did you end up here?”

“Skovald.”  Revulsion dripped from the word.  “The so-called ‘God-King.’”

He quirked an eyebrow.  “We’re not from around here.  Care to elaborate?”

“Is he one of the Felskorn?” Saskia added.

Gudrun nodded.  “Their leader. The youngest of four sons born to Queen Bretta.  When the Legion arrived, his lust for power blinded him, and he offered his allegiance.  He amassed an army of fel-tainted traitors, slaying first his brothers, then his own mother.  In return, the Legion made him king.” A scowl darkened her features. “He has ruined his people.”

“Wait, his mother?”  Saskia’s brows furrowed.  “That’s impossible. The curse of flesh made the vrykul have human children.”

“For a time.  But with the blessing of Eyir and Freya, it became possible for vrykul to bear progeny of their likeness, so long as they remained faithful to their gods.”

Her face became unreadable.  Horace cleared his throat, but she didn’t notice, her eyes fixed straight ahead, unblinking.  “They sent people in the middle of the night,” she whispered blankly. “They wanted to eradicate us.  They said we were not meant to exist.”

“Then they were cowards,” Gudrun declared, “for none may resist the winds of change.”

Silence blanketed them for a time.  Finally, the rogue spoke again. “There’s someone I’d like to pay a visit to before we leave, if you don’t mind.”  Her grip on the Dreadblades tightened.

Though uneasy, Horace was ready to voice agreement when a high, clear voice rang out.  “Do you know who you speak to, banshee? Spare me your trite, and I may yet spare your life!”

“Helya!” Siggi hissed.  Quickly and quietly, the four hid by the nearest outcrop of boulders.

Blood pounding in his ears, Horace readied his sword and shield.  There was only one banshee he knew of, and that was the one who had left the Alliance to die on the Broken Shore.  So many had suffered from her betrayal; honest soldiers whose bodies would never be buried, families who would never see their loved ones again.  There were untold levels of retribution in bringing her head back to Stormwind. His blood boiled even thinking about all she had done.  Lord Shadowbreaker’s words echoed in his ears.  He was no longer a part of the paladin order. Nothing remained to stop him from shoving his blade between her shoulders before she even knew he was there.

Sylvanas’s voice was difficult to make out, and even Helya had grown quieter.  He needed to get closer. A hand reached out and held onto his armor, keeping him in place.  Saskia looked at him, and he could swear she had read his mind.

_ Listen, _ she mouthed.   _ Do not engage. _

The val’kyr stayed behind while Saskia lead him forward.  Crouching low, they skirted around the ocean, letting the waves wash away their footprints.  They only stopped when Sylvanas and Helya could be heard but not seen. The two humans pressed themselves as close as possible to the rocks, and listened.

“Our need is mutual,” the Banshee Queen insisted.  “Not even the titan keepers themselves will be able to stand against us.  All I ask is that you grant me more val’kyr.”

Helya chuckled.  “I do not work with empty promises.  Prove your worth, and then we’ll talk.”

Hesitance was evident in Sylvanas’s voice as she asked, “What would you have me do?”

Thunder rumbled overhead, and the seas hissed as Helya leaned forward; her claws could be heard grinding into the rocks.  “I want you to bring Eyir to me in  _ chains _ ,” she snarled.

Next to Horace, Saskia gasped despite herself.

“Consider it done,” Sylvanas assured the sea witch.

“Don’t bother coming back until it is.”

The discussion clearly over, Horace and Saskia hurried back to their allies.  “Is there any way you can sense the others?” Saskia asked. “We need to leave ASAP.”

“No.  Our powers are limited down here,” Siggi replied.

She made a frustrated noise.  “Then we need to work fast.”

The waylight was given to her during travel since her armor was lighter.  It would be too much of a setback if Horace tripped in the muck and broke it.

They found the third and fourth members of Gudrun’s battalion crammed into the same cage.  Spear in hand, Siggi leaped upward with a thrust of her wings, bringing the weapon down on the head of a mistweaver as he was just barely registering that anyone was behind him.  The waylight was immediately channelled into the captured shieldmaidens. Once free of their prison, they grabbed weapons of their own, and the hunt began again.

“Five more,” Gudrun said.

Saskia set a rigorous pace.  The val’kyr, of course, had no trouble keeping up--wings are very useful things--but Horace found himself more than once ready to lose his balance from hidden obstacles in the tricky terrain.  Just like when the senior paladins made the squires run the perimeter of Stormwind, he took care to regulate his breathing; steady in, steady out. They almost would have blown right past another of Gudrun’s group had he not seen her and called out.  

Finding these shieldmaidens was like finding a very bright needle in a dark, dingy haystack: surprisingly easy.  As he freed the ninth one with the waylight, he turned to Saskia and asked what had been on his mind for a while: “What about that guy you wanted to see?”

She held her blades away from her body as the blood which was caked on them began to absorb into the metal which, wow, okay, that was really freaky.  Where did she say she had found those? “Oh, I’ll be back for him,” she assured Horace.

Gudrun’s voice seemed to cut through the mist like a sword.  “Sisters, we have a promise to fulfill!” she declared. “Return these champions to the surface world!”

Each val’kyr extended an arm in his and Saskia’s direction, Light swirling in their palms.  All at once Horace was overwhelmed with a sense of peace and chaos as the world spun rapidly around him.  He and Saskia were being forced upward into the sky; his vision began to go white and fuzzy until the only source of light was the stars shooting across his vision as it abruptly went dark.

*

_ Yikes _ .  His head was killing him.  Lurching upright, Horace blinked against the eye-watering sunlight and took stock of his surroundings.  There was dirt underneath his bruised body, and a thin layer covering the side that had connected with the ground.  The sky was stormy and threatening, thin rays of light doing their best to push through. Grass and trees surrounded the barren circle of earth he sat on.  And, to the side, Saskia was leaning back against a boulder, munching on some jerky.

He flopped backwards and spread his arms to the side, laughing.  They were  _ alive _ !  A lump welled up in his throat at the mere thought of it.  He had never been more grateful to see daylight.

“Good to see you up.”

Tilting his head to regard the bedraggled rogue, he breathed, “You, too.”

“We should head to Skold-Ashil as fast as we can,” she continued.  “Sylvanas could show up at any time.”

“Right,” he hummed.  Despite the weight of their task, the paladin found it difficult to stop smiling.  His eyes fell closed as he reveled in the few drops of water hitting his grime-smeared face.  Fresh, clean, cold water that didn’t smell like brine and decaying flesh.

He could have laid there forever had Saskia not started tapping his arm with her boot.  “We need to go,” she insisted.

As they started to move, something came back to him.  “So… who was that person you wanted to see in Helheim?”  

It was hard to tell what Saskia felt. The rogue kept her eyes ahead and her stride quick, mouth pulled down into a determined frown.  What knowledge Horace possessed of the vrykul had, for the most part, been garnered from this trip, the rest being veterans’ exaggerated war stories.  Gudrun’s words had clearly rattled his friend, but pressing the issue was a bad idea. Experience told him that she could get… prickly. Then again, he was getting good at following through with bad ideas.

“Skadi,” she replied.  “Northrend’s parasite.”  Her tone did not bode further questions.

Catching sight of the bridge where they had been captured, the paladin felt a chill snake up his spine.  The foreboding sense of evil reappeared. Others from the Alliance, led by Genn Greymane, were supposed to be here as well.  He wondered if they felt it, too. Maybe he simply needed time to shake off the paranoia of the underworld. He was tempted to keep checking his hands, just to make sure he was no longer transparent.

Below, where the water forged its way through the earth, a ship could be faintly distinguished.  The blues and golds distinguished it as an Alliance ship. From the little puffs of gunpowder, it was clear that they were preoccupied.  Horace could only hope that Sylvanas hadn’t beat them to the punch. 

On the bank opposite the fighting, sharply-sloping roofs jutted up twice as high as any peasant’s home in Stormwind.   Further away was a sizeable columned entrance to an abode in the fjord itself, with stairs, a dais, and several adjacent catwalks leading up to it.

This was Skold-Ashil, then. 

Saskia halted at the cliff’s edge and squinted in the direction of the mountain hall.  There weren’t any visible signs of battle yet; good. Her head swivelled around as she looked for a way down.  To the left was the way they came. To the right, in the distance, a tower peeking through the trees, but no trail or elevator in sight.

“I take it we don’t have time to see if that’s a friendly settlement?” Horace said, gesturing with his thumb to the right.

The rogue shook her head.  “We’re hard-pressed as it is.”  Then she turned to him, eyes flashing.  “How much do you trust me?”

Oh, no.  “Please don’t kill me.”

Barking a laugh, she reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling out a gun with the other.  Aiming at a particularly shiny part of the cliff, she fired, and out popped a harpoon with rope trailing after it.  The jagged edge pierced the shiny object, producing a hideous noise. In three short strides, Saskia flung both herself and Horace over the edge.

He was fairly certain his heart stopped.  His brain certainly did. One moment, the two were in free-fall, wind rushing past them at blinding speed.  The next, they were swinging in an arc. The blood-chilling realization that he would die if Saskia didn’t make the succeeding shot hit him like a slap across the face.  

“Hold on!” Saskia cried, but the blood rushing in his ears muffled her voice to almost a whisper.  She spun her body in mid-air and fired the harpoon once more, hitting her target of a watchtower dead on.  They were swinging again, around the structure and into Skold-Ashil proper. Feet dangling far too close to the roof-tops, Horace was abruptly let go.  

Only muscle memory saved him.  He flailed in an attempt to angle himself properly so as not to die on impact, landing on his side with hands covering his head and rolling a considerable distance.  Thank the Light for all those times Sir Arthur pushed him off his mount.

Saskia landed close by, springing to her feet much faster than her companion.  Did she do this on a regular basis?

It took mere seconds for them to be surrounded by about twenty armed and angry giantess warriors.  Horace, however, was too busy scrambling onto his hands and knees in time for his stomach to give an awful lurch.

While he was heaving his guts out, Saskia began to address the soldiers.  “Aspirants!” she called, voice ringing silver. “We have returned from imprisonment in the depths of Helheim itself to bring you this dire warning.  Eyir is in danger! These undead now battling on your shores are mere pawns of Helya! She has sent them to capture and corrupt the Goddess.”

Cries of outrage and shock echoed through the crowd.  Amidst them rose a single voice of dissent. “Who are you to deem yourselves a worthy source of such news?” she asked, making a sweeping gesture at the two humans.

Reaching into her breastplate, the redhead produced a dark cobalt feather, secured to a beaded leather thong.  “My father is Roland Rastout, of the Winterskorn. I have been granted an immortal feather of Huginn. I dedicate my life to Odyn, Lord of the Halls of Valor, and in Helheim I and my partner saved his val’kyr from certain doom.”

“There is no proof of this, little one,” the same vrykul retorted.  She folded her arms across her chest in disdain.

Unfazed, Saskia declared, “Lady Gudrun can attest to our deeds, and may the gods strike me dead if I lie.”

There was a pause.  These people clearly expected a bolt of lightning to cut her down where she stood.

Instead, there was an explosion behind the warriors.  Horace stood woozily, wiping his mouth, and saw one of Skold-Ashil’s watchtowers go up in flames.  So Sylvanas was here, then. Fantastic.

It was an age-old distraction technique, but unfortunately an effective one.  Valkyra aspirants were flocking towards the wreckage. He prayed it had been unoccupied.

“Do you believe me now?” Saskia exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“Sisters, to arms!” went up the cry.  The crowd dispersed, Saskia hard on their heels.  Swallowing hard, the queasy paladin followed her, knowing that they weren’t going to be fighting the main Forsaken force.

The Dreadblades glittered red in the cool sunlight, coming down in a merciless arc through the neck of a Deathguard foolish enough to face the rogue.  Horace raised his shield, colliding head-on with another of Sylvanas’s soldiers. The impact made his stomach churn. Maybe he could defeat his opponents by hurling on them.

Meanwhile, Saskia had gone after the Warchief herself, teeth bared in a furious snarl.  The Banshee Queen had already entered Eyir’s temple, a waylight visible on her belt.

With a wave of her hand, Sylvanas Windrunner sent her elite against the rogue. Horace knew that, despite her skill, she couldn’t take them all on alone.  So he took a page out of his friend’s book, sneaking up behind another one and bashing their head in.

There were six remaining opponents outside the temple threshold.  He first advanced on one attempting to corner Saskia. A different Deathguard alerted them, though, enabling them to parry his thrust.  In return, Horace kicked out with his leg. He caught the Forsaken in the shin, taking their attention lower just long enough for him to exact a finishing combo of shield to the face, sword to the heart.

“Duck!” Saskia yelled.

He complied, a throwing dagger whistling over his head and between the eyes of an opponent thinking to catch him unawares.  Three more.

Someone else was trying the same thing, the foolish corpse.  Spinning on his knee, he put his full weight into letting his blade sink into their flesh.  They spasmed for a brief second before he shoved them to the side. Two. 

Saskia had kicked a leg up into the air with enough force and speed to send her enemy’s neck snapping back with a gritty crack.  A knife in the jugular made sure the job was done. One.

The last Deathguard was attempting to run back to their ship.  Another throwing knife sang through the air, fitting nicely in between their vertebrae.  Zero. Yet more were on their way from the beaches.

Chest heaving and breath fogging in the air, the duo prepared to face the second wave.  Before they had the chance, an explosion had them staggering forward. They whirled around to see what was going on, and stopped dead in the tracks.  

The previously shadowed hall blasted forth golden light; they had to shield their eyes from its radiance.  Horace felt its presence flow through him and welcomed it, breathing deep. Just like church.

When the last of it ebbed away, silence descended.  Glancing back, Horace saw that the warriors of Skold-Ashil were… kneeling, the Forsaken they had been fighting either dead or dying. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  A hand on his shoulder brought his attention to Saskia, who was gazing up at the sky with such reverence it appeared she might cry. As soon as he followed suit, his jaw dropped.

Drifting up into the clouds was the massive, glimmering silhouette of a val’kyr.  Her wings fully spread, she was a stark contrast to the dreary darkness of the land, a beacon of light and hope.  The heavens themselves parted to welcome her. They closed with a thunderous rumble, and the land grew somber once more.

Not even seeing the Cathedral of Light could come close to the feeling Horace experience in that moment.  He stood rigid, too awestruck to do anything else. That had been  _ Eyir _ , and actual, honest-to-goodness  _ goddess _ .

Oh.  Right.  Eyir.

Gaze still glued to the sky, he grinned and told Saskia, “Well, looks like Sylvanas won’t be paying Helya a visit anytime soon.”

In return, the rogue beamed at him, inviting him to knock their fists together.  “Nice work.”

The scrape of boots against stone suddenly became clear.  Horace had no idea what to expect when he lowered his head to investigate them, but it  _ certainly  _ was not the shirtless king of Gilneas staggering towards him with an arrow in his chest.  Both he and Saskia ran to his aid as the man grimaced, knees buckling.

“Don’t move him,” Saskia instructed.  Upon peering closer at the wound, she cursed.  A sickly purple congealed at the entry point, radiating out like spiderwebs.  The arrow had been poisoned.  
“Agent!  What’s going on?”

The distinctly Gilnean accent belonged to a tall, dark-haired woman, clad in military regalia, landing her gryphon beside the three.  Two worgen on their own birds halted beside her, ready for action.

Saskia regarded her with a grim stare.  “Commander Crowley.”

Lorna took a knee.  “Light’s blessing, Genn!” she breathed.

“Sylvanas’s handiwork,” Saskia explained.

“Right.  Help me get him onto Donovan.”

Horace set aside his sword and shield to lift the fallen king onto the gryphon’s back.  Genn let out a choked groan at being jostled around, but otherwise was unresponsive. Mountain up behind him, Lorna kept an arm around his waist, reins secure in her free hand.  “The Champion is still inside; retrieve them,” she ordered her soldiers. To Saskia and Horace, “Meet us at Greywatch, to the east.”

In a flurry of feathers, Donovan took to the skies.  

The watchtower fire was well under control by now.  Several vrykul were walking in their direction, battered and bloodied by alive.  They were led by the same warrior who had challenged them earlier. 

“We had assumed that the outsiders would fight themselves out in a few days,” she admitted, “not attack us so brazenly.”

“Both side possess notoriously short tempers,” Saskia quipped.

The warrior nodded.  “Thank you for your aid, little ones.  We are forever grateful.”

“The Alliance needs allies like you in its crusade against the Legion.”  Saskia reached into her pant pocket and procured a crumpled leaf of parchment.  “High King Anduin Wrynn sends his regards.” 

She took the letter and studied it.  “I will deliver this to our leaders.”  Her hand closed into a fist and pulled up to her chest in a crisp salute.

Returning the gesture, the rogue said, “We look forward to your decision.”  She nudged Horace. “We should leave for Greywatch soon,” she muttered. “Think you’re up for it?”

Despite still feeling pretty sick, the prospect of a warm meal and shelter amongst the Alliance was alluring.  He could even have a place from which to mail a letter to his family. It was hard to tell how long the journey out of Helheim had been; they were probably worried.  He nodded. “We’ll need to send a report to Anduin.”

“Exactly.”  She saluted the vrykul women again.  “Eyir’s blessing upon you.”

“And you.  Safe journey, friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kickin' off 7.3 with a reminder of how far behind i still am with the current lore. school and work come first though, and gotta get that blizztern portfolio in good working order. hopefully i'll be able to update within the next two weeks.  
> also i'm so excited this story is halfway to 200 hits! this won't have any smut so i doubted it would even get past 50 tbh. thank you all who are reading; i have no idea who you are but i appreciate your support.


	8. 1-800-WHERE'S-YOUR-MOTHER

In many ways, Anduin and Natalie were very similar.  Mainly in the fact that they despised being bugged while working.  Lyrius  was attending a summit amongst the other Kirin Tor archivists, meaning that she had a free day to travel to Stormwind and spend some time holed up in the keep’s expansive library, free from pesky younger apprentices badgering her with questions.  Although there weren’t many books on demons, as her project demanded, there were several helpful tomes on human anatomy.  Any useful passages she found went directly into her notebook.

_ This _ project was unsupervised and unauthorized, but nevertheless necessary.  It was more of a quick test, anyways, with herself as the guinea pig.  If successful, it would be a game-changer for her and people like her all over. Not that she was one to brag, of course.

There were a good bit of supplies that she would need, but they were all back in Dalaran, and she wanted to make the most of her time in Stormwind.  Mainly, bugging Anduin, no matter if he squawked about it.  The man needed his friends.

He was found in his office amongst several mountains of paperwork.  From the dark circles under his eyes and the disheveled state of his usually-immaculate wardrobe, he hadn’t slept.  The gentle scratching of pen on paper, normally Natalie’s favorite sound, now irked her.  With a smirk, she waved her hand.  Anduin’s pen floated out of her grasp and into hers.

He let out a surprised noise, face contorted into one of confused frustration before he saw the culprit.  “I kind of need that,” he grumbled, but it was free of any real anger.

“You kind of need sleep, too,” she chided.

“Pot calling the kettle black, huh?  How many all-nighters have you pulled this month alone to study?”

“One, and it was very justified,” she replied primly, arching a brow as she took a seat opposite him.  “In all seriousness, though, how are you?”

Running a hand through his hair, he puffed out a sigh.  “I’m alright, all things considered.”  There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, gone as soon as it arrived.

Natalie only had to glance at the portrait behind him to know why.  At one point, Saskia had suggested putting up an angrier portrait so the former king could, “Intimidate without even being there.”

It hurt that she couldn’t say that at least Anduin had a large support system.  There was herself, Saskia, and Velen, possibly Genn but not likely, and… “Have you been in contact with Lady Jaina lately?”

He shook his head.  “Khadgar’s even taken her place on the Council of Six.  She’s just vanished.”

A new item made its way onto her to-do list.  There certainly wouldn’t be a lack of things to keep her busy in the upcoming months, but she didn’t pride herself on her ability to multitask because she was bad at it.  “She’ll show up soon, I’m sure of it,” Natalie assured him.

He gave her a strained smile.  “Yeah.”

Standing, she declared, “Well, I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Sorry.  I really do appreciate you visiting me, there’s just…  _ so much work _ .”

“No rest for the weary, as usual,” the mage joked, returning his pen to him.  “One more thing: can you bless some water for me?”  She held out a flask.  “I need it for science.”

Anduin took it and closed his eyes, praying under his breath, and the flask was suffused in the Light.  After a moment, he handed it back to her.  “Should do it.”  He lifted his hand to stifle a yawn.

“Thank you kindly.”  She pocketed the flask, but remained in the office for a moment longer, whispering, “Dormi ansom.”

Before long, the king would be unable to keep his eyes open, forcing him to go to sleep.  It was a sneaky gesture, if well-intentioned.  He would thank her later.

A few hours of intense studying later, Natalie returned to her study pondering a great deal of things.  It would not be easy to find the archmage if even her adoptive son hadn’t been able to do it. As if  _ she  _ would back down from a challenge, though.

She was able to find Terras in his usual haunt, drawing him away to the laboratory with more tea and biscuits.  And, just like last time, it took the old gnome all of five minutes to fall asleep in his chair.

Donning her protective wear, Natalie took her preserved samples of the nazrethim and placed them, one by one, under a microscope.  The vial of holy water that Anduin had created for her was set nearby; very carefully, she took a dropper full of it, and put a single drop onto the skin sample.

It hissed, angry red welts appearing without hesitation.  The result was akin to a third-degree burn.  She let fall another drop, dictating to her scribe spell as she watched small bits dissolve.  Water itself was a neutral substance, but maybe, once blessed, the pH shifted?

She broke away from the microscope to rummage through several drawers.  The two test strips she took were the last; she would have to log that more were needed.  Both of them gave a pH reading of seven, however, proving her hypothesis false, so there had to be another reason.  The interaction between Light and fel was the most likely explanation, but not a very detailed one.  And it still did not explain why Light magic did such a better job at cleansing corruption than arcane.  Oh,well, another project for another time.

When she next placed a blood sample in contact with holy water, it bubbled as if boiling.  A thermometer  _ did _ register a high enough temperature for this to occur, but without a fresh blood sample to take a temperature reading from she had no way to determine if this was because of the Light.

Natalie turned away from the microscope to sigh.  Explaining the intersection between science and magic was  _ hard _ .  Mouth puckering into a frown, she told herself, “No whining.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Panic crossed her features. That certainly did not sound like Terras.  Slowly, her gaze made its way to the direction of the voice.  She gawked up at the white-haired woman standing before her, puzzlement in her icy blue eyes.

“Lady Proudmoore,” she breathed, feeling her cheeks grow warm.  She realized she still hadn’t answered her question, and added, “Ah, sorry, I was, ahem, talking to myself.”

An amused little smile made its was onto the archmage’s face.  “No need to apologize.  I told myself much the same thing during my apprenticeship.”

It was difficult to keep her blush from showing.  Lady Proudmoore was much prettier in person.  

Jaina gestured to the collected chaos of Natalie’s workstation.  “This seems like the perfect project to get Terras to supervise.  What are you working on?”

“I’m breaking down the chemical composition of fel and seeing if it can be purified!” she replied, a grin spreading quickly across her face.

“A very practical endeavor,” Jaina remarked.  An inquisitive frown made its way onto her face as she studied Natalie, tapping a finger against her chin.  “You look familiar.”

Taking off her safety goggles to better show her face, she said, “I was at Garrosh’s trial with Anduin and Saskia.”

Her eye twitched.  “Ah, yes, Saskia.”  There was no hiding the wryness of her tone.  “I recognize you now, though.  Nice to see you again.”

Natalie was positively beaming.  “Likewise.”

“The senior mages speak highly of your accomplishments,” Jaina continued, gaze returning to the laboratory.  She folded her arms across her chest before asking, “How many mentors have you had?”

“Just one.  Archivist Lyrius Acostas.”

She nodded.  “Typically, an apprentice will only stay with one, maybe taking classes from others, but I think it would behoove you to try studying under someone else.”

She didn’t mean… no.  No way.  “You, ma’am?”  Her voice quavered slightly.

“Yes.”  Taking a deep breath, she added, “I have been encouraged to take on a new apprentice by my colleagues.  Someone who knows her way around a library.”

_ That’s me! _ Natalie thought.  It was hard to resist fidgeting around in her seat, she was so excited.  “I-is there any paperwork I need to take care of?  When can I start?  Will I need to re-locate?  I need to tell my parents!”

A light laugh escaped the former councilwoman as the apprentice’s excitement startled Terras awake.  “Let’s give it a week.  I’ll speak to Lyrius in the meantime.”

“I won’t let you down, Lady Proudmoore!”  Wow, her voice squeaked a lot more than she meant it too, _ but she was just so excited! _

“I’m hardly worried about that.  Or getting a whiny apprentice,” she joked with a wink.

They shared a chuckle at that.  As Jaina turned to leave the laboratory, though, something tugged at Natalie’s heartstrings.  Standing, she met the woman at the doorway and said softly, “Ma’am, I… I know it’s probably not my place to ask this of you, but… I think you should write to Anduin.”

A shadow passed over the archmage’s face.  “How is he?”

“You know those conical shaped donation bins where the coin rolls around and around until it falls down into the can?  The coin is Anduin.”

“I see…”  Sighing, she chewed on her lip.  “I’ll reach out to him.  Thank you, for letting me know.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She laid a hand on Natalie’s shoulder.  “Please, call me Jaina.”

Natalie watched the laboratory’s doors swing shut, not sure whether to jump up and down and shriek joyfully or to return to work.  She decided on the latter; those samples weren’t going to study themselves, after all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't think natalie quite realizes what she's getting swept up into. only time will tell what she'll get up to...  
> thank you for reading!


	9. Brother May I Have Some Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saskia's POV

_ Anduin, _

_ Sylvanas tried to enslave a val’kyr goddess so she could be granted the power of Helya and bolster her undead forces. Genn’s fucked. More news to come.  _

_ Saskia _

 

_ Mom, Dad, Izzy & Maggie, _

_ I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner.  Things have been pretty hectic lately.  The paladin instructors have been pushing all us squires to our limits to get us ready to fight the Legion.  I miss you all. _

_ Much love, _

_ Horace _

 

He hated lying to them.  Yet Saskia had warned him about even hinting at the truth, saying that they both could be in a lot of trouble for it.  He ran a hand through his drizzle-damp hair and puffed out a sigh. Now that Sylvanas had been stopped, the plan was to begin taking down the kvaldir and, eventually, Helya herself.  A daunting task for anyone.

After sealing the envelope and stuffing it into the mailbox, he sought shelter under the medical cabin’s overhanging roof, next to Saskia.  It made him uneasy to not be able to see the other end of Greywatch through the mist. “How do you grow up in a place like this?” he asked the rogue.

“You get used to it,” she shrugged.  “Besides, it’s better like this. No wind, and overcast to trap more heat.  On clear nights in Northrend, sometimes I’d spit just to watch it freeze mid-air and hit the ground.”

“Wow.”  And to think he was freezing on mornings when his breath could barely be seen fogging.

“Yeah.  My brother and I looked pretty stupid, waddling around in the snow with all our layers of fur and wool.”

Horace chuckled lightly.  Judging by her current personality, his friend was probably a tiny terror in her younger years.  The thick clothes may have been the only thing keeping her from running amok. Izzy and Maggie had been much the same way as toddlers.  It made trying to do fieldwork a challenge, especially when the corn grew past their heads.

“Anyways… How’re you holding up?” Saskia asked.

The cold air stung his nose as he inhaled deeply, leaning back against the structure.  “Helheim sucked, but I think I’m alright. Slept like the dead last night. The dead-dead, not the, uh, undead.”  Words. How did they work?

“Aren’t we all technically undead though?” the redhead mused.  “Like, we’re not dead, so what’s the opposite of dead? Undead.”

“I hate that you’re making me think about this,” he groaned.

She tapped the side of her head and raised her eyebrows, looking smug.  If only it were actually a deep thought.

Time to change the subject.  “So, in Northrend, is the Scourge still a big problem?”

“You better believe it.  Stupid cultists keep trying to start stupid shit, but killing them still fetches a nice bit of silver.  All the wildlife populations need to be left alone until they can recover from the plague, so hunters turn to a different kind of quarry to survive.”

A hard life made harder.  Horace remembered the first time he had ate coyote meat.  Not many moons passed before he stopped hearing their yips and howls at night.  “Hopefully we live to see an end to the tough times.”

“Who knows?”  Saskia huffed out a laugh.  “We sound like a couple of crotchety old soldiers.”

In a way, there was a part of him that  _ did  _ feel older.  But not wiser.  Just more tired.

*

It happened later that day that Commander Crowley wished to debrief with them.  Saskia did most of the talking, leaving Horace to chip in every now and then. Crowley was not pleased with most of the report, especially with the points about Sylvanas and Helya, but they had completed the mission, which was the crucial part.

“The important thing to focus on now is making good and sure that Sylvanas is not allowed to continue her work,” the Gilnean surmised.  “Which you will be in charge of, agents.”

“What about Helya?” Saskia asked.  At her hips, the Dreadblades seemed to glow brighter.

Lorna tented her hands and leaned forward, scanning a document on her desk.  “We sent summons to twenty of the Alliance’s most elite fighters to join us in an assault on Helheim; thus far, only eight have responded.  I suppose we may need to start taking any who are willing, what with everything that’s going on elsewhere.”

“We can go,” Horace volunteered.  “Saskia and I were in Helheim already--we know what to expect more than anyone else.”

The Commander tapped her index fingers together, deep in thought.  Finally, she said, “Very well. You will serve as guides to our strike force.  Do everything you can to prepare them.”

The duo snapped into a crisp salute at their dismissal.  From the look in the rogue’s eyes, Saskia was itching for this fight, like a cat sneaking up on a mouse.  Ironically, she was really more of a dog person.

*

It was easy to sneak away that night.  It was always easy. Manila envelopes in hand, Saskia was able to maneuver out of the barracks without making a sound, supple leather boots darting across the floor and out into the darkness.  She drew her hood over her head and went around to the small space between the perimeter wall and the back of the wooden building. In her hand glowed a grey pebble. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and focused on the weight and feel of it in her hand, conjuring up images of home.

In the time it took to blink, she vanished.

When she opened her eyes, she stood on a dirt path.  To her right was a tent dyed deep violet. The shawled gnoll sitting inside smiled and waved a paw at her.  

“Evening, Sayge,” Saskia called.  “Is he here tonight?”

“Yes, dearie,” the seer croaked.

She began to walk, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, and turned onto the main road through the Darkmoon Faire.  Carnies bustled about as usual, not even pausing to consider how late the hour was. The faire had just ended, and there was a great deal of cleaning and preparing to do before next month.  Being that it would also fall before Hallow’s End, extra decorations would need to be set up, transforming the whole island into a sea of orange and violet and green. The salty sea air mixed with fried food and sweet treats to tug at her heartstrings.  She had missed being here.

“Well, aren’t you an early bird.”

The gnome coming up to walk alongside her wore a sharp yet simple suit and pointy wizard’s cap, looking more at home pulling a rabbit out of a hat than running a world-famous attraction.  Saskia handed him the manila envelopes with a wink. “There’s been a lot happening lately. A lot we could make use of.”

“Fascinating.  I’ll have to have a look-see.”  Silas snapped his fingers, and the reports vanished, presumably to his office.  Not even his trusty ogre companion, Bertha, knew where exactly it was located. “Your payment.”  Another snap, and Saskia felt a weight in her coat pocket.

“Much appreciated,” she assured him.

Silas nodded.  “Try to keep some more tabs on what that Anduin is getting up to once you’re finished in Stormheim.  Methinks Greymane may start whispering in his ear, and he may start to listen.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

“Excellent.”  And, just like that, the warlock vanished.

Saskia continued to walk toward a set of large tents nestled at the edge of the forest.  As she got closer, a tiny dark-haired elf girl poked her head out and gasped. The rogue’s face broke out into a grin as the child waddled as fast as her tiny legs could carry her.  With a laugh, Saskia reached down to scoop her up and wrap her in a bear hug, placing a kiss on her cheek. “How’s my favorite niece in the whole universe?” she asked.

“Auntie Saucy!”  It had become somewhat of a running joke that little Delilah couldn’t pronounce Saskia’s name, with the rest of the family teasing her, but with the kid, it was cute.

“Is your dad around?”  Saskia carried Delilah back to the worker’s housing, complimenting her little pigtails and asking her how training to play the drums was going.  Since both of the half-elf’s parents were musicians, she was constantly surrounded by music, and  _ loved _ trying to play her family’s instruments.  Unfortunately for them, that often meant that she just wanted to smack the snare drum with her chubby toddler hands as hard as she could and yell, but they always encouraged her creative passions.

Just outside of the tents, Loic and Chrysanthemum Rastout were taking down some laundry from the clothesline.  Saskia’s older brother, with the same red hair, amber eyes, and light honey skin, raised a hand as she approached.  It was obvious that Delilah had gotten more of her mother’s looks than her father’s, but they both shared the ability to freckle easily.

Despite the grimness of the news she carried, Saskia took her time greeting the two of them, setting Delilah down to carry in a basket of neatly-folded clothes while chatting lightly with Chryssie.  Inside, they shared a cup of tea around a small brazier while catching the rogue up on the latest gossip spreading amongst the faire’s workers.

It wasn’t until her niece started falling asleep that Saskia asked Loic to take a walk with her.

“I figured you didn’t come here just to spend quality time with your big brother,” the taller sibling joked, but it was obvious that he was just trying to lighten the mood a little.

Saskia shook her head.  “I went to Helheim.” No point in wasting time with small talk.

He inhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair.  “Shit. Dad always told us that place was inescapable.”

“It’s not.  If you know the right people, anyways.  But the Alliance is forming an elite squadron to go back there and take down Helya, and they want me and another agent to guide them.”

There was a pause as Loic bit his lip and tried to process what he was hearing.  “So… I take it you’re going.” He frowned. “And there’s no stopping you?”

“No, but Helya isn’t the only reason I agreed to lead the strike force,” Saskia admitted.  She stopped and turned to face him, brows knitted. “Loic, Skadi’s there. There’s no way he’s anywhere else.  When my obligations to the Alliance are finished, I’m taking him down. I want to give you the chance to come with me.”

The look on his face was undeniably pained.  “Saskia…” He sighed, folding his arms across his chest.  At that moment, he wasn’t angry, or upset with her; he was just tired.  “Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t you want to?  He took  _ everything _ from us; this is our chance to repay that,” she insisted, but her brother was already shaking his head.

“I have a wife, and a child.  It’s the same reason that Dad never went out with the other raiders to fight the Scourge.  If I’m gone, a little girl grows up without her father. There’s no way I’m risking that.”

He  _ did _ have a point, though it irked her that he was so complacent about it.  “Skadi needs to pay for what he did.”

“Isn’t he already though?  He’s in  _ Helheim _ .  Not exactly a pleasant afterlife.”  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Loic continued.  “I love you, but I’m not stupid enough to waste time trying to stop you.  Just please think about Delilah. She  _ adores _ you.  Do you really want her first run-in with death to be someone she’s so close to?”

“It was ours,” came the reminder.  It sounded a lot more petulant than she intended, but it wasn’t like she could take it back.

He gave her a very pointed look from the corner of his eye.  “That’s not a good thing, Saskia.”

A drop of rain fell on her head, then another.  Soon enough, it was starting to pour, forcing the two siblings to seek shelter underneath the merry-go-round.  Even if she would never admit it, Saskia actually felt cold, and it wasn’t because of the weather.

Loic wrapped an arm around her in a sidelong hug, letting her head rest on his shoulder.  “Are you sure you don’t wanna come back to working here? The other ballerinas miss you.”

“Yeah, I miss them too,” she conceded.  “I’m still going to fight Helya, though.  The Alliance needs me.”

He nodded.  “Figures. They always need something.  But think about it some more, okay? I miss my little sister.”

There was a lump rising in her throat.  Tears began to sting her eyes and before she knew it, she was crying.  “I was so  _ scared _ ,” she sobbed.  “The kvaldir captured us and dragged us to Helheim and I had no idea if we would ever get out alive and I wanted you and Andris and Mom and Dad  _ so bad _ .  I thought we were going to die.”

Loic shifted his body so that he could hold his sibling closer as she let it all out, smoothing her coppery hair.  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Saskia,” he murmured. “It’s okay, now; I’m not going anywhere.”

*

It was seven o’clock in the morning and still dark, the only light emanating from the crescent moon when it wasn’t hidden behind the clouds.  This far north, in this stage of winter, it was simply a matter of time before it didn’t rise at all. The air stung, each breath thin and cold but  _ clean _ .

Saskia had only been to Icecrown a handful of times, and only while accompanied by several heavily-armed vrykul.  All of Northrend was unforgiving, but this valley, and its surrounding mountains, were a special kind of deadly. The Scourge still resided here, after all.

Riding atop Darcy, the only remains of Arthas’s reign visible to the naked eye were the Ymirjar settlements and, of course, Icecrown itself.  Since the Ebon Blade refused to go near it anymore, the structure was beginning to show signs of decay.  _ In the end, nature always wins _ , she thoughts.

The proto-drake landed in the midst of a scraggly cliff overlooking one of the more hidden of the vrykul’s homesteads: Jotunheim.  A growl rose from deep in his throat.

Dismounting, Saskia pat the great beast’s neck and pulled down her scarf to say, “It’s gotta be done, buddy.  Wait here.”

He reluctantly sat back on his haunches with a huff as Saskia slid down into the village proper.  Finding supplies for this task would be no problem; the corpses of reanimated vrykul shambled all through the decaying ruins.  Wooden pillars crumbled to the touch, a swift kick sending them to the permafrost, taking their flags with them. As inevitable as it was sad, to see civilization rot away like this.

It occurred to Saskia that, a while back, she had promised Natalie some Titan literature.  Most structures certainly were not steady; better to rescue the books now than leave them to the elements.  Besides, maybe the archivist would come up with a spell to restore damaged books so she wouldn’t get carpal tunnel.  

Like Greatfather Winter, the rogue shoved every book, pamphlet, map, and remotely-useful knick knack or fragment of vrykul culture she could find into a special handbag Natalie had given her.  It had the ability to be filled but never be full, which was convenient, considering that Saskia was looting  _ everything _ in sight.  About an hour later, and she was finally finished, cinching the bag shut and clipping it back onto her belt.

The Dreadblades hungered as their wielder regarded her first few targets.  Saskia cut down the Ymirjar in under a minute as if they were butter. Kneeling next to one of them, she set aside her cutlasses and procured a simple scramseax.  The bodies were harder to cut through than leather, but it was necessary work. Though she did pull her scarf back up to block the smell.

Once finished with the first, she moved to the second, third, and finally fourth, stuffing their bones into a burlap sack.  All that remained was to deliver the goods.

Within Jotunheim’s surrounding mountains was a single cafe, easy to find but harder to enter.  Saskia stopped just in front of the entrance and held up her bag of bones. “Merry Winter’s Veil,” she announced.

There was no response at first.  Then, without warning, the bag was yanked inside by some unseen force.  Hands in her pockets, the rogue waited. A previously invisible barrier lit up, then fizzled out, permitting her entry.  She removed her headwear to let the cave’s sole occupant get a good look as she stepped inside.

“My, how time slows when you’re lonely.  I haven’t seen an offering in years.” The voice was disjointed and breathy yet deep, almost tired.  From the shadows, a woman emerged-- or, at least, what used to be a woman. Though the Lich King had struck her down, a Bone Witch could never truly die.  Revival was a lengthy process, however, and a great deal of decomposition had been able to ravage the once-beautiful vrykul to a shriveled, rotten husk.

“Can you create runestones from these, oracle?” Saskia implored.

“Of course!  Yes, these will do…”  There was a rattling as the witch beckoned the bones forward and shattered them with a quick close of her fist.  The pieces scattered across a charged circle of runes between the two people; from that, she was able to lift a glowing sigil out of the dirt and onto a rock with her free hand.  She repeated the process thrice more, eventually transferring them to Saskia with a toothless grin.

“Crush them when you need,” the witch instructed.  “They should last long enough for you to kill her.”

It hardly fazed the rogue that she knew what she planned to do; she  _ was _ a seer.  “You have my thanks,” she said with a bow.

What  _ did  _ faze her was how, as she began to leave, the Bone Witch muttered after her, “You are so young, and pretty, and… and alive.  Perhaps you will suffice.”

She made a point of booking it back to Darcy.

*

When Horace had awoken two days ago to find Saskia missing, he had shrugged it off and figured she was up to some super-secret Shadowblade stuff or whatever that rogue group she’d joined was called.  Yet the third morning was starting to morph into afternoon, and she was nowhere to be found. Champions were arriving a Greywatch, including the night elf Horace had seen raising hell along Hrydshal’s parapets.  They all expected to immediately be briefed on Helheim and its dangers but, try as he might, the former squire was a terrible public speaker.

“So, um, yeah, it’s really foggy down there.”  He scratched the back of his head and attempted to think of what to say next.  “Lots of kvaldir sneaking up on you, especially the spellcasters. They have these lanterns, too, that they use to corrupt the val’kyr.”

Abruptly, a cloaked figure appeared in the middle of the fort with a puff of smoke.  After brushing the dust from their hands, they pulled back their hood. It was Saskia.

“The hell have you been?” he hissed at her when she joined him.

The rogue sported dark bags under her eyes and frost dusting her hair and clothes.  Sniffling slightly, she put a hand on his shoulder, looked him dead in the eyes, and said, “Don’t.  Worry about it. Bro.”

Incredible.  Thankfully, she took over as speaker, covering much the same he had but faster, and with more conviction.  During the speech, it was difficult not to wonder where his companion had been. Maybe it was something he was not cleared to know.  Regardless, when the briefing was finished, the champions were all silent and unsettled.

“It’s a lot to process; take your time,” Saskia informed them.  “We’re shooting for… I don’t know. Lorna? When are we supposed to attack?”

The commander strode up to them with hands clasped behind her back, her head held high.  “Four days time, at dawn. Make all your necessary preparations, champions. We have a hard fight ahead of us.  Dismissed!”

A part of Horace knew in his heart that he had made a very, very bad decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after saskia and her family managed to flee the scourge war in northrend, they went to live with their grandparents who worked at the darkmoon faire. saskia was trained both as an agent and a ballerina and loic developed a knack for music and started a band (fleetfood foxes) that performs indie/alternative music.


	10. Fighting Hard, Fighting On For The Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *disclaimer* the dialogue in this chapter for odyn, hyrja, and hymdall belongs to blizzard entertainment. i only used these tidbits to stay as true to in-game lore as i possibly could with this story.

Bit by bit, Horace was managing to scrub all the gunk from Helheim out of his armor.  It was hard not to make a face each time his fingers found another slimy piece of seaweed trapped in the chainmail links.  All the dampness and salt had not been good for the metal, especially since he hadn’t been able to clean it for a few days, but, with water and a little soap, it was fairly easy to restore its original luster.  

This final push against Helya was different from the last few battles he had fought; it was a waiting game.  So much sitting around was beginning to make him antsy, even if he knew it was best to plan ahead as thoroughly as possible.  But if his blind crusade into Westfall had proven anything, it was that he was a doer more than a thinker. As a result, he ended up participating in infantry drills to pass the time.

On the third day, he really started to get nervous.  His grip on his sword was shaky at best, and he ended up dropping it several times during sparring, much to his embarrassment.  The anticipatory knot in his stomach made it difficult to choke down any food at mealtimes, but he tried his best.

It must have been obvious, because a member of the strike force, a pandaren monk clad in black leather, sat by him as he forced himself to swallow another bite of stew.  “You look very young, paladin. I take it this will be your first coordinated assault?”

“Ah, yeah.”  Even with his vocal augment, his words pitched a little higher.

She nodded.  “Meditate with me.  It always calms my nerves before a battle.”

“I-I don’t know how.”

“Oh, it is very easy.  The key is in the breath; slow in, slow out.  I will be contemplating the nature of strength.  Perhaps the Light would be a suitable topic for you.”  With that, she assumed a cross-legged sitting position on the ground, hands on her knees, and closed her eyes.

Horace spent a few minutes studying the pandaren and the way her deep, steady breaths seemed to engage her whole core, giving her a look of total serenity.  Situating himself similarly, he tried to emulate her.  _ Slow in, slow out. _  Indeed, the Light would be a good topic.

More than knowing a lot about it, watching the val’kyr wield the Light but believe in an entirely different faith bothered him.  Not in the sense that he thought it was wrong, but it was forcing him to question what had been rigorously drilled into him since he became a squire.  The Light itself was a forced controlled by the revered naaru, not Titan keepers. 

The whole ordeal of religion was starting to stress him out.  Was there a belief that was right? Were the others just misinterpretations?  He had never seen a naaru, even if they were real, but he had seen Eyir, felt the power, the resolute faith, surging through him in her presence.  Sir Arthur had told him that nothing was ever a simple “yes or no” answer, especially concerning matters of belief. It made his head hurt to wonder how complex the answer to his question was.  Maybe it was simply a matter of trust. Maybe he wasn’t meant to overthink anything.

In the end, meditation did help.  It took his mind off the impending siege and had him worry over something else.  When he finally could not stop himself from yawning, he gave in and stood, stretching out stiff muscles.  His armor was ready to go for the morning, he was fed, and he had prepared the rest of the strike force. Nestling into his bedroll, Horace slept.

No amount of water could keep his mouth from feeling dry as a bone when morning arrived.  In his anxiety, he had needed Saskia’s help to buckle his armor. Hands in a death grip on his sword and shield, Horace murmured prayers and verses as he marched with the strike force towards Odyn’s temple.  Next to him, Saskia looked giddy with excitement. She was finally getting her wish: to prove herself in the eyes of her god. If only he could share even a tiny piece of her enthusiasm. The thought that his breakfast of bland gruel may have been his last was really bogging him down.

Saskia elbowed him good-naturedly as they ascended the temple’s absolutely absurd amount of steps.  “You’ve got some battle scars in the making.” She tapped her nose and winked. “Guys dig that, you know.”

Of course she was referring to Anduin.  He blushed despite himself. “Maybe so, but they’ll make my mom worry more.”

“She’ll adjust,” the redhead assured him.

The distant gleam in her eye roused the obvious question, “Do you have many?”

“What, scars?  Oh, yeah. When I was learning knife tricks at the Faire I nicked my hands more times that I can count.  Then there’s one from my shin’s infamous fight with a bench.”

He laughed at that.  Panting heavily from having to lug his bulky plate mail up such steep terrain,  he decided not to ask about the faded red marks on her upper body that he had seen before, both to save breath and to avoid potentially bringing up Northrend.  She would tell him if she wanted to.

Odyn’s temple was certainly more expansive than Eyir’s had been.  Great statues loomed on either side of the entrance, a silent warning to those of ill intent.  Inside, vaulted ceilings reached up over a hundred feet high. The whole structure was metal, with a luster reminiscent of wet stone in the sunlight.   _ This _ was a place forged by the Titans for sure.  It appeared virtually indestructible.

Just ahead, a swirling teal barrier blocked any advance, bringing the team to a halt.  The pandaren Horace had spoken to last night turned to face those gathered; she must he the leader, he realized.  With a tranquil spark in her eye, she spoke.

“Friends, we face a dangerous foe.  Odyn’s trials are brutal, Helya’s defenses ruthless.  But we do not face any of it alone. All of us, working together, can overcome even the worst odds, and come out better than ever, for above all else, we are strongest as one.”  She pumped her fist into the air. “For the Alliance!”

Horace joined in the resounding cheer, thumping the flat of his sword against his shield.  “For the Alliance!”

Spirits riding high, the strike force followed the pandaren as she crossed the barrier without hesitation and vanished.

He likened the sensation of going through to using Natalie’s portal during the Legion’s attack; his body was being stretched and squished all at once.  It was hardly a pleasant trip. When he opened his eyes, he gasped, stunned into silence. 

The Halls of Valor gleamed gold against the bluest sky, a shiny, heavenly miracle of celestial make.  Before him lay a glittering pathway that looked thin as dust. Val’kyr lined the road, kneeling, actually  _ kneeling _ for these mortals who came to prove their might.  At the end, a massive coliseum rose above the clouds, silken banners fluttering in the breeze.

Saskia was on the balls of her feet, ready at any moment to spring into action.  As soon as their leader cried, “Onward!” she did, lithe strides carrying her forward.  Horace, hard on her heels, only had a split second to watch her turn into a sphere of dazzling light and fly up the road to think, “Oh, crap,” before his feet touched the platform, and he was off.

The trip took the breath from his lungs and left him frazzled but  _ exhilarated _ .  He hopped in place, letting out a whoop and shaking his head.

“Champions!”  The deep baritone voice thundered all around Horace.  As he stepped through the threshold, two guards saluted him, lightning arcing about the cracked slate of their bodies.

Inside, the first thing that caught his eye was the throne on the far end, specifically the figure sitting on it.  Odyn loomed tall as a mountain, molten orange hair billowing down from underneath his helmet. The keeper’s remaining eye shone star-bright, seeming to pierce right through all he gazed upon.

Horace couldn’t help but stroke his chin at the sight.  When he died, he wanted to reborn with a beard like that.

“You have spilled the blood of Helya’s minions,” Odyn continued.  “The time has come to enter Helheim itself and end the sea witch’s dark reign.  But first… a final challenge!”

The strike force’s leader had mentioned Odyn’s trial.  In this case, Horace would have no idea what to expect; he would be totally reliant on his ability to improvise.

“Hymdall!  Hyrja! Test the mettle of these mortals.  I must be certain they possess the courage and skill needed for what is to come.”

To either side of the titan keeper, two figures leaped down onto the coliseum floor.  On the left was a dark man, clad in red and bronze, and on the right, a val’kyr whose ornate and intricately-detailed armor relayed her status.  She must have been one of Eyir’s prized warriors. Both were substantially larger than Horace. That part did not phase him as it would have a few weeks ago, however.  He had taken down an infernal and lived. How hard could these giants be?

“Shall we be lenient with these pets of yours, Odyn?” the one on the left asked.

Odyn shook his head.  “Hold nothing back! I must know they are ready for the task ahead,” he replied.

Horace frowned.  What if any of the strike force died fighting these two?  They were barely enough to take down an army of sea monsters and their queen.  Any loss would be a heavy one.

“So be it!” declared the one on the right, her words ringing high and silver.  “The unworthy shall be purged from the Halls of Valor!”

Odyn, sitting back on his throne, gestured with a hand and nodded.  “The battle is yours to begin, heroes.”

The team was beckoned into a huddle by their leader.  “Alright, here is our plan. I will take Hyrja head-on and keep her occupied.  Those of us who are ranged fighters will join me. Melee fighters will take on Hymdall.  Paladin, can you lead the charge against him?”

It took Horace a moment to realize that she was addressing him.  He blanched, feeling sick, but nodded. “I-I can. I will.” Even if it wouldn’t exactly be a painless experience, his armor and abilities were more equipped to take the brunt of attacks.

“Good.  Healers, you will stay as far back as you can.  Be light on your feet; I doubt you will be ignored.”  Clasping her paws together, their leader asked, “Are we ready?”

There was resounding agreement throughout the group, and then people began to take their places.  In the stands high above, people had ceased cheering as they waited expectantly for the battle to commence.  Palms sweating through his gloves, Horace stood in front of Hymdall and watched their leader take her place near the champion’s val’kyr counterpart.

Just behind him, Saskia clasped his shoulder and leaned in.  “You’ve got this; I’ll be right by your side.” When he turned to look back at her through the slits in his helmet, he found her smiling, and inclined his head in turn.

He pulled his shield up and took a defensive stance, giving his sword a twirl.  The last thing he heard was, “Champions, begin!” before he let loose a battle cry and charged.

Blood pounded in his ears with every heartbeat.  Even with the crowd’s cacophony, it was all he heard, and it soothed him, oddly enough, a steady one-two, one-two in time with his breathing to keep his nerves under control.  Shield held firmly in front of him, Horace Lin braced himself for a bone-chilling shout from Hymdall, knees bent to take the force of the blow. Amazing how a titan keeper could even do damage by yelling.

Hymdall’s sword was easy enough to avoid, even if it did strike with a lion’s ferocity.  More than once, Horace felt the sword’s wake ruffle his hair as he ducked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of the strike force surrounding Hyrja.  The val’kyr wielded her spear with incredible skill; her broad swipes sent those who did not move fast enough flying backwards. She manipulated the Light to devastating effect, a beam of holy fire exploding outward when she thrust her spear forth.  It was all her opponents could do to huddle together and weather the storm.

“Stand together, or die alone!” she bellowed.

Seeing this, Horace found himself wanting to replicate the attack on Hymdall.  Natalie’s curiosity must have rubbed off on him more than he thought. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that he could royally screw up and endanger his team.

_ Doer over thinker. _

Okay, to hell with it.

Giving his sword a twirl, he took a deep breath and concentrated on feeling the Light flow down his arm through to the tips of his fingers.  The tempered metal in his grip glowed and hummed expectantly. With a cry, Horace thrust his weapon at Hymdall’s shin. Empowered by the Light, his blade broke the not-quite-stone skin and buried itself halfway to the hilt.  

Hymdall staggered as his leg abruptly refused to bear weight.  Stab after stab and spell after spell from melee fighters pummelled his body, driving him to the ground.

Horace pulled free his sword just as the titan construct knelt in surrender.  To his right, Hyrja was meeting much the same fate, the endless barrage of attacks from all sides proving too great for her to withstand.  In one last attempt, she leaped into the air to bring her spear slamming into the ground with a thunderous clap. The arena floor shuddered under the impact and cracked, shallow fissures sprouting up in a spider’s web around the epicenter.  It was not enough.

Horace and his team joined the pandaren and hers to bring the val’kyr to her knees.  He shouted out a prayer, and the space he occupied lit up in dazzling consecration. Hyrja yelped as her bare foot was singed by it, and in that moment, Horace became more confused than ever.  How could the Light hurt someone who wielded it just the same as he?

Yet now was not the time for contemplation.  He had a job to do. Together, he and the pandaren surged forward, delivering one last attack against Hyrja.  She crumpled under the sheer force, falling to one knee and putting up a hand in surrender.

They had done it!  They had passed Odyn’s trial!  Saskia jogged up and clapped his shoulder, her grin as wide as his.  Adrenaline still boiled his blood, but he found himself laughing, letting out a victory cheer and thrusting his sword into the air.  The pandaren woman jumped up in jubilation, the whole strike force joining in the celebration.

“Well done… so far!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, yes, i know, dragonforce lyrics for the chapter title.
> 
> i hope you all have as much fun reading this as i do writing it! we're almost at the end of part one and i'm starting to get all mushy at how far our totally righteous bro has come already.


	11. Mr. Brightside

A pit formed in his stomach.  His eyes, wide and unnerved, stared at Odyn as the man hopped down from his throne.  “Shit.”

“But  _ I _ will judge for myself whether you are worthy.”

Sweet holy Light and mother naaru.  He was going to die. Saskia let loose an excited whoop and smacked the Dreadblades together.

He looked at the pandaren, and she nodded grimly.  Hymdall and Hyrja had just been a warm-up; now it was time to face the music.  Odyn reached for the weapon sheathed on his back and pulled it free, letting the glimmering titanic metal bask in the awe of the audience.  Under Horace’s feet, a swirling golden dust appeared, and he hauled ass away from it. Not even one second after he left the circle a spike erupted out of the ground viper-quick and slowly sank back down, dispersing balls of Light in all directions.  The strike force did their best to dodge the haphazard obstacles, but Horace heard several cries of agony as he rushed up to Odyn and brought his sword up for a jab.

_ Thwap! _  The flat of the Watcher’s blade smacked against Horace’s side and sent him hurtling.  He used his shield to protect his head and neck as he slammed into solid ground, his weapon spinning away.  The wind knocked from him, he coughed and wheezed, stumbling to his feet and retrieving his blade. Yet another pool of dust formed right where it was, causing him to backpedal like mad to avoid being skewered.  He picked it up once clear of subsequent attack and turned back to face his team.

Or, what was left of it.  Those not wounded from the initial wave were scattered, trying desperately to dodge this newest bout.  They were losing the battle before it had even really started. Chest heaving, Horace struggled to parce together a new strategy.  Having only been a squire, that was easier said than done; at his level, it had never been taught. Even all the books he had read as a child had not gone deep into the plans of attack used by the victors.

A high-pitched scream broke through the haze of his thoughts.  The pandaren woman had fallen to the ground and lay unmoving, a bright red gash visible where it had sliced through her leather jerkin’s sleeve.  Horace froze. She had helped him, and he had never even learned her name, and now she could be dead. Then his feet began to move in her direction, bobbing and weaving around Odyn’s relentless assault, until he was at her side.  He positioned his body in front of her to allow the healers time to run up and pull her out of danger.

Hyrja’s words came back to him as he grit his teeth and channelled the Light through his core and out to his sword.  Sucking in a deep breath, he began to run forward, and roared, “Stand together, or die alone!”

The words echoed throughout the coliseum, carried on the wind so that even the crowd’s din paled in comparison.  He wasted no time in stabbing his sword straight through Odyn’s boot, puncturing through the leather and into the foot.  Footsteps drew closer until they were at his side, Saskia and the rest of the strike force rallying at his cry, and hope sang through him anew.

“Let’s end this!” Saskia cried.  The Dreadblades sent sparks flying as they sliced and diced lightning-fast, biting into Odyn’s heels to leave scuffs and nicks in their wake.

Horace bashed his shield against Odyn’s polearm as it swung past him.  “Watch the blades!” he warned as patches of the ground began to swirl. The group dispersed, taking up new positions around their target.  Above his head, a surge of astral energy barrelled straight into the Watcher’s chest, and Odyn had been too busy trying to take care of the melee fighters that it caught him completely off guard.

An opportunity presented itself, and Horace seized it in a vice grip.  Once again, he prepared himself to replicate Hyrja’s attack, but this time he was running away from his target.  Then he turned back and charged Odyn, gaining momentum with each step. This was a massive opponent, and that meant balance was not easy to regain.  Odyn’s one remaining eye stared down Horace as he tried to right himself.

Light, pure, powerful Light, filled the paladin practically to bursting, seemingly lifting him off his feet on the wings of faith.  Horace hopped up onto Odyn’s foot, pulling his sword back as he jumped with every ounce of strength his legs could muster, gaze fixed on the Watcher’s knee.  Before the polearm had a chance to launch him halfway across the arena, he screamed defiantly and let his Light-infused blade drive home.

It took him a hot second to realize that what went up had to come down before he released his grip on the hilt, abandoning his shield so that he could tuck into a clumsy roll as his body faced the wrath of gravity.  A horrible crunching sensation came from several of his ribs; thankfully, adrenaline kept him from feeling a good deal of pain. He tumbled across the arena floor, his plate and chainmail armor granting him safety from more broken bones in exchange for many, many bruises.  He could vaguely make out spell-casters firing a barrage of attacks on Odyn as he clattered to a halt just outside the sidelines.

Yet, despite the team’s best efforts, Odyn was not done testing them, even as he knelt prone.  “Valarjar, prepare the runes!”

He was just running for his shield when five vrykul appeared from the stands, each bearing a haloed rune.  In turn, five champions were marked, and five spots on the ground glowed. Odyn was having them play connect-the-dots.

The night elf’s head swiveled to and fro as he came to the same conclusion.  “Match your colors!” he ordered. “Kill the Valarjar!”

Horace gasped, one arm clutching at his abdomen as he made his way towards his sword.  Breathing became an arduous task, but as long as he could stand, he could fight. People were counting on him.  He turned his focus to one of the vrykul heading for the green rune once his sword was again in hand. His marked teammate had made her way to the matching circle and was fending off the attacker as best she could, dwarfed by his enormous size even as a seven-foot-tall draenei.  Horace’s blade went through the vrykul’s side and poked out on the other end; as soon as he yanked it back, the bronze man toppled, lifeless, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The rune faded, and the draenei nodded her thanks before dashing back into the fight.  The other Valajar were quickly falling to the team’s prowess, leaving Odyn alone once more.  That was not the last trick he had up his sleeve, however.

“It seems I have been too gentle,” the Watcher taunted, his voice dripping with condescension.  “Have at thee!”

Unlike the little pools of dust, which left plenty of room to run, this new attack lit up almost the whole arena with searing Light, leaving a small space for everyone to high-tail it towards as their feet grew increasingly toasty.  It became almost a game for Odyn as he moved the clear patch counter-clockwise around the arena sidelines. Melee fighters had to go double-time to make up for the spellcasters not being able to hold still long enough to work their magic.  To top it all off, the healers and their wounded were vulnerable even as they pressed as close to the walls as possible. And Horace’s ribs were still broken. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Horace could notice that Odyn was lagging almost as much as his test subjects were.  Taking a sword to the knee could even make a titan-forged being huff and puff, apparently.  The following minutes would make or break this fight.

“Feel the fury of the storm!” Odyn bellowed, and stomped his foot.  Lightning radiated outward, sending a jolt through the combatants that had almost all of them disoriented and rattled.

Breathing hard, Horace wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to stab at Odyn’s foot again, but he was running out of energy.  The Light could only serve him for as long as he could wield it. His sword made a shallow nick in the boot, but he still managed to hold the Keeper’s attention.  He balked when, for a brief moment, he saw green, fearing Odyn had busted out the runes again, but this was different. It soothed him like a chill glass of water on a hot day, the sign that he was being affected by druidic magic.  The night elf channelled into him for a few seconds longer before releasing and returning to the offense.

The pain and fatigue plaguing him alleviated, albeit briefly, enabling him to get in a few more solid strikes.  By some absolute miracle, the “floor is lava” charade stopped once they made it a full revolution around the arena.  Horace leaned back, his grip moving to the top of his shield so that he could fling it up at Odyn’s smug face. It ended up at Odyn’s stomach instead, the full height too much to manage.  He heard a grunt, saw a bright orange slice appear where the blow had landed, and barely had any time to retrieve his shield before he heard, “ENOUGH!” and a gong was struck.

The entire coliseum erupted into deafening cheers.  Horace scanned the area for the rest of his team. Out of the ten Alliance champions who had entered the battle, six were standing, Saskia thankfully among them.  He tried to take a step towards her, but his legs refused to comply, and he fell hard to his knees, clutching at his sword like a lifeline.

“Your worth is proven,” Odyn announced.  “With you as my champions, Helya will fall and I will at long last be free of the curse that binds me here.”

What in the hell was he talking about?  Saskia had some explaining to do. For now, though, Horace needed a healer, and a year’s nap.  A hand on his shoulder made him bring his head up. The rogue’s face was flushed, grimy, and covered in sweat, her armor singed and torn, but there was a smile breaking through the weariness of her visage.

Wordlessly, Horace returned the gesture, and she nodded understanding.  They had done it. They had passed Odyn’s trial and become his champions.  Now all that was left was to defeat Helya.

“Val’kyr, see to their wounds,” Odyn commanded, his nonchalance making it almost seem like an afterthought.  Not like anyone cared; they just wanted to feel a little less like death.

The warm, tranquilizing wave that washed over the paladin made him want to sob in relief; finally, he could breathe again.  Saskia stood with him, strength restored, and let out a gasp. Her armor had been replaced from head to toe. Her mismatched old leathers were now sleek brown and blue with silver accents all trimmed in fluffy, weather-treated fur.  Sigils, etched into her pauldrons, seemed to float right off the surface.

On the other hand, Horace had gotten new armor and new weapons.  The standard-issue squire’s sword was now a bronze gladius with a golden stripe up the middle and gems on the hilt.  His shield was… a face. An old man’s face, with glowing green eyes and a flowing beard. He wondered what his enemies would think if he charged them with this, yelling like a maniac, only his legs visible.  Hopefully they would run the other way; he certainly would.

His armor was olive laced with gold; looking down, he could see a ram’s visage in the breastplate.  He had gained a helmet, as well, with horns that curved up and in to razor-sharp points.

“Enjoy your gifts, champions.  May they serve you well in the battles to come,” Odyn preened from his throne.  “There will be a feast, to honor those who have passed my trial. Go, for you certainly have earned it.”

Saskia took Horace’s hand to lead him back down the Path of Glory, but something stopped him from following her.  The wounded had not been cared for. They still lay where they were, with Alliance healers fighting to keep them afloat.  Instead, Horace ended up shrugging her off and heading towards a familiar face.

“Why didn’t the val’kyr help you?” he asked.  Setting his weaponry and helm aside, he knelt next to the pandaren woman and called the Light to him, letting it seep into her grievous wound and stop the bleeding.  She peeled open an eye and smiled up at him, but she was clearly hurting. The blade had cut deep, all the way to the bone.

Odyn spoke for her.  “They did not pass my trial.”

Horace’s jaw clenched.  “It’s the least you can do when you actively try to kill your own people,” he ground out, but his tone was too low to hear.

A paw weakly patting his knee pulled his attention downward.  She was shaking her head. “Don’t worry; I will be fine.”

Eyebrows knitting, he asked the val’kyr nearby, “Will they be allowed to stay here and recover?”

“No, champion.  We shall send them back to Azeroth,” came the reply.

He hummed worriedly.  His friend had lost a lot of blood… it felt wrong to just  _ leave  _ her.  So he stayed; he needed to help if he had the means.  “I never learned your name,” he remarked.

“It is Tei.”

“Thank you, Tei, for your wisdom.  I’m Horace.” The bleeding had slowed when he reached over and grabbed some bandages that the healers had set out.  Recalling his training, he wound them snugly about her arm, tying off the end and tucking it into the rest of the dressing.  “That should hold you over; sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“You’ve done admirable work.  Thank you, Horace,” Tei assured him.  She sat up, cradling her arm against her chest.  The spark in her eyes returned as she once again smiled at him.  “You have my utmost gratitude.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to handle that, so he just shrugged, a sheepish, lopsided grin on his face.  “You taught me how to not freak out. I’d say we’re even.”

She inclined her head in concession.  “Very well.” Her gaze went to the remaining Alliance fighters headed their way.  “Go, join your peers. You deserve it. I will return to Greywatch.”

It tugged at his heartstrings to depart so soon.  “Until next time, I guess. It was an honor to fight alongside you, Tei.”  He suspected that, if given the opportunity, they would probably have gotten to be good friends.  She seemed nice.

“Likewise, Horace.  Until we meet again.”

The newly-crowned champions spent a few minutes saying their goodbyes to their friends.  Saskia looped an arm around Horace’s shoulders and ruffled his hair after inspecting his new weaponry.  “You’re gonna look like such a badass!” she insisted. “Gods, I can’t believe we actually did it!”

Horace laughed, feeding off of her elation.  As the two walked side-by-side back down to the Path of Glory, he felt a warmth well up inside his chest.  It was love, pride, happiness, relief, all rolled into one, lifting his spirit skyward. They were going to defeat Helya.  They were going to defeat the Burning Legion. And, at the end of it all, they were going to bring peace to Azeroth.

*

The feast Odyn provided for his new chosen outdid Pilgrim’s Bounty ten times over.  Horace’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw it all, succulent red meats, soft, flakey bread, and lush greens.  In his mind’s eye, he could practically see his mother piling his plate full of vegetables and keeping the sweets out of reach of him and his sisters.  He dedicated half his plate to some roasted root veggies, stomach growling at how warm and buttery the carrots looked. Each thing he ate tasted just as good as it looked; he could easily have devoured so much more than he did after that fight, but he restrained himself, eating slowly and keeping his elbows off the table like a proper guest.

Cold water was served to wash it all down, along with plenty of mead.  He stared at the gold liquid for a while, trying to decide if it was worth it.  He had never tried any alcohol. Next to him, Saskia had a mug of the stuff nestled in her grasp.  “Don’t worry; a little bit’s fine,” she told him. “But whatever you do, do  _ not _ chug it.  You might die.”

Well, that was certainly reassuring.  Taking a stein, he filled it a little over half full, and took a sip.  It was… sweet, almost like drinking cider. Judging by the raucousness around him, very easy to get drunk off of.

Elbowing Saskia to get her attention, he asked, “So what’s this curse on Odyn?”  He had to almost shout to be heard.

“Helya placed it on him.  It means that he and his val’kyr can’t physically leave the Halls of Valor.”

“I guess that kind of kills your theory about Havi,” he joked.

Stubbornly, she shook her head.  “Those were his ravens; ‘Havi’ was probably just a disguise to he wouldn’t be recognized.”

“Right,” he drawled.  “Why did she place the curse on him, though?”

She paused for a moment, chewing her lip in contemplation.  “You know what, I actually have no idea.” She leaned forward and called to the val’kyr seated to Horace’s right, “Gudrun!  Why did Helya curse Odyn?”

The val’kyr’s smile faded as she took in the question.  “Out of spite,” she replied simply. “She was to be the first val’kyr, but she refused to accept Odyn’s gift.  When he performed the rite anyway, she grew furious, and fled this place. After creating Helheim, she used the power Odyn granted her to forever trap him here.”

“And the only way to break the curse is to kill her,” Horace concluded.  Suddenly, he wasn’t very hungry. “Excuse me, I’m going to get some air.”

Being away from the din made his ears ring a little, but it helped to clear his head.  He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest, puffing out a sigh.  The Path of Glory stretched out before him, drowning out the stars in its light, and the cold night air was bracing but calm.  In the silence he stood, letting ten, twenty minutes slip by as he breathed deep and tried to ignore the weight in his chest.

He heard Saskia’s footsteps against the metal floors coming up to meet him, but didn’t turn his head.  “Hey, you okay?” she called.

“I… I know it sounds weird, but I feel bad for Helya, you know?”  He looked towards her and found her face blank. She did not know.  “She never asked to have that happen to her but it did anyways. That sucks.”

“Yeah, but ascending to val’kyr-hood is a huge honor.”

“Now it is, but I doubt it was back then, since she was the first and all.  Trapped in a body that she didn’t really feel like she belonged in…” He wrapped his arms tighter around himself.  “I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t relate to that.”

Saskia’s expression sobered.  “Is it still real bad?” she asked gently.

“No, no, it’s better.  Nat’s vocal augment helps a lot.  I have a lot more good days than bad.”  Having people like Saskia and Natalie and his family in his life was a boon to his confidence.  They accepted him as he was, without hesitation; that was more powerful than any spell or enchanted jewelry.  “I’m just not so gung-ho to assault Helheim anymore.”

“Odyn doesn’t really seem like the kind of person you say ‘no’ to,” she said.

“Yeah.  I think I just have to keep in mind all the souls we’ll free when we’re through.”  It was a paltry justification, but the best one he could find.

“There you go!  Plus, we’ll be killing Skadi.  He deserves far worse than death, but it’ll still feel damn good to whale on him a bit.”  At her sides, the Dreadblades glowed dimly in response.

“You really hate that guy,” he remarked.

Something dark flashed across her eyes.  “You know the curse of flesh? When King Ymiron united the vrykul tribes of Northrend, he instigated a mass killing of any human babies born to vrykul parents.  He convinced a lot of people that these babies weren’t worthy of life because they were small and made of flesh instead of titan’s iron. Skadi was the main enforcer of that law.  He scoured the continent for every ‘abomination’ he could find. When my dad married a human and had kids, Ymiron was furious. We lived in a town with vrykul like my dad who opposed Ymiron’s rule; it was heavily guarded by magical means, but we were attacked all the time, by both Skadi’s lot and the Scourge.  And just your run-of-the-mill storm giant attacks, but those weren’t that big a deal. Point is, Skadi made me and my family live in fear of execution. I grew up sleeping with a gun under my pillow. I saw a lot of the horrible things he did to the people around me.” The leather of her gloves creaked as she clenched her fists until they shook.  “I want him to suffer like we suffered,” she ground out.

Horace frowned deeply at her words.  It was hard to imagine living that kind of life.  Even if she was free of Skadi now, she carried that weight with her each and every day.  He didn’t really fault her for not wanting to bring up Northrend anymore. “I’m not so sure about Helya, but… I’ll still help you kill Skadi,” he said finally.

Her eyes tightened as she forced a small smile for him.  “Thanks, Horace; you’re a good friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone!


	12. Go To Hell... Again!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horace, Saskia, and the rest of Odyn's champions travel back to Helheim to defeat the sea witch Helya and free the titan keeper from his curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since legion centers around the alliance and horde working past their grievances to defeat the legion, i figured that they should be both taking part in this raid at the same time, not so much by choice, and see what happened. i think lorna crowley is a real swell gal and also super hot so i made sure to include her in this chapter as well.

For his second journey into the depths of Helheim, Horace brought a cloak.  He kept it loosely buckled so as to be able to shed it easily if he needed, pulling the hood up to keep his face warm.  A runny nose was the least of his worries, however, as he and his teammates readied themselves outside the gates of Helheim.  This place, he had been told, was called Haustvald, where vrykul seers had honed their craft for thousands of years.  It spanned the length of a deep ravine, its crumbling stone walls built right into the earth.  Moss clung to the ancient structures stubbornly; clearly, these seers did not believe in gardening.  Through the mist, he could see several of them, crimson eyes and deathly pallor stark against the muted greys.  Despite being miles from the sea, the stench of brine hung thick.

The night elf druid-- Horace learned that he was called Naralex-- had stepped up as temporary leader in Tei’s absence.  He had spent the morning calling in reinforcements from Greywatch and the vrykul settlement of Valisdall.  It proved to be a wait, but a worthwhile one.  Lorna Crowley herself appeared, along with the finest her Gilneas Brigade had to offer, and from Valisdall came five more formidable warriors.

Saskia hailed the vrykul.  “Rualg nja gaborr, friends.”

A shieldmaiden inclined her head in kind.  “Rualg nja gaborr to you, champion.”

Horace quirked an eyebrow at her.  “It means ‘glory in honor,’” she explained, and he nodded understanding.

“Alright, everyone.”  Lorna’s voice carried strong and sure over the idle chatter.  “This is it.  Keep your wits about you; we are not going on a picnic, after all.  Today is about winning a crucial victory for the Alliance.  We must--”

“Crowley!”

The commander whipped her head around to see a lean, red-headed troll striding towards her, face obscured by a wooden mask.

“Rokhan.”  Though she didn’t sound thrilled, she wasn’t out-right hostile.  “My condolences to you.  Vol’jin was a fine man.”

“Aye, that he was.”  His ears drooped.  Behind him, his team appeared equally as forlorn.

“Will you be joining us in the assault on Helheim?” she asked.

Rokhan nodded.  “That we be.  It’s time to bring Helya’s reign to an end.”

“We couldn’t agree more,” Lorna replied.

Before they could continue, a flash of bright light appeared farther down the road to Haustvald.  Both teams turned their focus to it, confused but curious, as a looming figure walked towards them with their staff in hand.

Naralex grinned and raised a hand in greeting.  “Havi!”

Above the vrykul circled his two ravens, making their displeasure loud and clear.  Havi stopped close to the troops to gaze upon the ruins.  “I remember when this was a place where people would come to study the sacred rites of the vrykul,” he lamented.  “It is a shame we must fight here.”

“Have you come to aid us, sir?” Lorna implored.

He shook his head.  “I only wish to give you my blessing, and a few words of inspiration.”  Suddenly, Havi’s figure blurred and shifted, growing three times as tall in the span of three seconds.  What stood before those gathered was no longer the vrykul Havi, but the Titan Watcher, Odyn.

There was awestruck silence from everyone.  That is, everyone except Saskia, who pointed an accusing finger and yelled, “ _ I knew it! _ ”

Odyn chuckled as he moved a hand over the crowd.  A golden glow swelled and ebbed around each person, a boon to their strength.  “You are tried-and-true champions of the Valarjar.  Though I tested you separately, I have no doubt of your ability to work together, and I could not be more proud of your accomplishments.  Now go, and show Helya the strength of Odyn’s chosen!”

All around Horace, people cheered, but he found it hard to join them.  The greyness of his task still weighed on him like a boulder.  He looked at his peers and wondered briefly if maybe, just maybe, they had achieved their status because they didn’t question orders.  He immediately shook away the thought.  These were smart people; they knew what they were doing.

Lorna and Rokhan vanguarded the advance into Haustvald.  Horace was hard on their heels, joined by another tank, a tauren Sunwalker.  The two exchanged glances and nodded in greeting.  She took up the left half of the inkbinders while he took the right, setting down a field of consecration.  From all the nooks and crannies of the ruins, kvaldir emerged, followed by hulking skeletal warriors.  Had they not been trying to kill him, he would have probably laughed them off as extravagant Hallow’s End decorations.

His new shield, though twice the size of his old buckler, was light in his grasp.  One bash sent little bits of bone flying as he crumbled the skeleton’s rib cage.  Before it even hit the ground, he was onto his next opponent.  The kvaldir hissed at him as he charged his sword with Light, slicing clean through its midsection.  He yelped as he nearly slipped on the subsequent pile of seaweed.

“Watch it!”  A Gilneas Brigadier in worgen form swerved to avoid his flailing sword arm and launched herself as another kvaldir.  The ghoulish fighter had only the blink of an eye to react until claws and teeth were ripping it to shreds.

Flanking the worgen by several yards was a Forsaken archer firing projectiles with remarkable speed and accuracy.  Horace could see her targets falling out of the corner of his eye, arrows buried deep in their throats.  The battle was going smoothly, looking to be an easy victory with no casualties for their forces, until it wasn’t.

The next arrow the archer fired was aimed at a runebinder vrykul in the midst of casting a spell.  She lined up the shot to pierce his skull and let it fly, already knocking another when a massive dark figure launched towards the same target from the side.  Both she and Horace could only stand there, horrified, as the worgen leaped in front of the arrow in her haste to tear into her enemy.  She didn’t even notice her mistake until it was too late.  An agonized howl escaped her and her eyes went wide as the arrow went straight through her temple and she fell to the ground, dead.

_ Oh, Light no _ .  The noise still rang in Horace’s ears as the kvaldir went down and Haustvald fell to the Alliance and Horde.  Lorna wasted no time in yanking the missile out of her warrior’s head and thrusting it in Rokhan’s direction.

“You treacherous  _ scum _ !” she roared.

Everyone was dead quiet, shock and fear evident on their faces.  Horace met the Forsaken archer’s gaze as she dropped her bow and raised her hands in surrender, stammering, “I swear, it was an accident!  I’m so sorry--”

“Save it!” Lorna snapped.  “Give her up, Rokhan; an eye for an eye.”

“Makes the whole world blind,” he supplied.  Standing to his full height, Rokhan was easily twice the size of the Gilnean commander.

Yet Lorna was not one to cower.  “Is this what your new ‘Warchief’ wants?  To make us complacent so you can pick us off one by one?”

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” Rokhan growled.  He hefted his weapon and took a step towards her.

The ice freezing Horace in place broke, and he rushed forward.  “Wait!”

Both leaders ended their staredown to regard him.  “What are you doing?” Lorna exclaimed, exasperated.

“It  _ was _ an accident,” he insisted.  “I saw the whole thing-- she jumped in front of the arrow at the last second.  There was no stopping it.”

Lorna’s white-knuckled grip on her sword tightened.  “You had better be damned sure about that, agent.”

“Swear on the Light, I’m sure,” he promised.

She and Rokhan exchanged glances, still seething but, as far as Horace could tell, willing to come to some sort of impasse.  Finally, Lorna took a deep breath and said, “Very well.  Let’s continue.  _ Cautiously _ .”

“Aye,” Rokhan agreed.  “Cautiously.”

From the ever-present cloud cover, a val’kyr floated down.  She picked up the fallen worgen without a word and carried her up, presumably, to the Halls and Valor.  The only thing that remained was a patch of dark red blood staining the ground where her head had been.

There was still tension between the two sides as they walked down the rest of the steps to Helheim; neither wanted to start attacking each other when another victory was so close.  The archer caught up with Horace, her cheeks tear-stained and her hands shaky, but her relief plaintive.  “Thank you,” she whispered.

In return, he managed a tiny smile.  She echoed it before falling back with her group.  Saskia gave him a thumbs-up.  He just shrugged it off.  Someone had to do it; might as well be him.

Much like the Halls of Valor portal, the portal to Helheim glowed an eerie greenish-blue.  Knowing what lay on the other side made Horace queasy, but he steeled himself with the knowledge that, this time, he wasn’t alone-- far from it, in fact.  Yet the urge was there to turn and bolt.  Saskia looked about the same, balling her fists and holding her head high to hide the fear in her amber eyes.

The moment the team phased through to the other side, they were confronted by more kvaldir.  Horace’s mind went blank as muscle memory took over and engaged the nearest opponent, bashing it with his shield so it staggered back and he could thrust his sword straight through it.  His giant old-man-face-shield became a force to be reckoned with wherever he flung it, always returning to his side with a flick of his wrist.

A puff of smoke to his left was all he saw of Saskia before she reappeared behind two kvaldir spellcasters, delegating one Dreadblade to each witch’s heart.  With the grace of a dancer she did away with three more, her swords glowing brighter with every life she took, an unnerving hint at how they got their infamous power.

The tauren paladin kept close to Horace when she attacked.  With the other melee fighters forming a wall, they were able to protect the spellcasters better and, ultimately, push Helya’s vanguard back until the last one had fallen.

Breathless and sweating despite the frigid air, Horace scanned his surroundings for their next target.  So far, nothing visible.  Yet he knew from experience that there were always things lurking in the shadows down here.  They just needed to show themselves, and Horace was ready to make them if need be.

“Should we advance?” he asked Lorna.

The commander was wiping her blade with a handkerchief, wary eyes assessing her troops and ensuring that the Horde was still on their side.  “Five minutes,” she informed him primly.  “Then, yes, we’ll continue.”

He was a little glad for the reprieve, actually.  It gave him a chance to catch his breath and re-adjust his armor where it had been forced askew.  Walking over to Saskia, he said, “It feels weird to be back down here.”

“Yeah.”  There was a distinct furrow in her brow as she stared down the hill.

“You okay?”  He gave her a gentle shove.

“‘Course.  You?”

He nodded.  “Heart’s going a mile a minute, but I think that’s just from adrenaline.”  Anxiety at being here, too, but mostly adrenaline from the fight.

Rummaging through one of the packs strapped to her belt, she fished out a grey pebble and handed it to him.  Emblazoned in the middle was a bluish symbol.  “You can use this if you start getting tired and need a boost,” she explained.  “Just crush it in your hand and let the rune work its magic.”

“I didn’t know you knew enchanting,” he remarked, turning the pebble in his hand to watch the way its rune reflected the light.

“I don’t.  Got it from a friend.”  She pulled out another one to show him.  It was a duplicate of the first.  More than anything, it proved to him that she wasn’t just handing him some strange bullshit without understanding its effects.

A low snarl echoing in the distance cut off any further conversation.  There were thundering footsteps that made little bits of sand tremble until they ended abruptly.  Horace could see a massive figure in the distance, a mere silhouette against the darkness, but even from a distance he could tell that those were definitely three distinct heads bobbing and weaving about.

“Guarm,” Saskia growled.

She had taught the Alliance team about Helya’s favorite pet back at Greywatch.  Vrykul legends spoke of the fearsome monster spitting out concoctions from its three mouths at any who dared approach.  If any of those happened to mix, it was game over.  Everyone would have to remain on their A-game for this to work.

“Rokhan, are your forced prepared to move forward?” came Lorna’s voice.  She stood on a rocky outcropping with her weight leaning into the boot that rested on a higher boulder, a hand on the hilt of her blade and another on her hip, looking every bit a stunning example of martial prowess.

The Horde leader inclined his head.  “Aye.  Let’s show Helya what we think of her little pets.”

Drawing her blade, Lorna turned to level her blade in the direction of the thrashing waves and swirling mists, crying out, “Helya, your cursed reign ends tonight!”

A gravelly chuckle echoed throughout Helheim.  The very air itself seemed to grow colder.  Clearly, Helya believed her monsters capable of destroying their forced before she would ever have to bother with them further.  For a brief moment, Horace even wondered if it would be tonight.  He had reached Stormheim… end of August?  Early September?  Somewhere around there.  By the time he and Saskia found their way back to the world of the living, autumn had passed through, and the winter was settling in.  Time moved differently down here than up on Azeroth.  Having no way to gauge the exact difference, for all he knew, a full day could have already gone by, even if it seemed like a few minutes.  He almost dreaded to think about it.

They advanced to Guarm with steely determination thrumming through them.  As soon as the six glowing eyes caught sight of them, the beast roared, spittle flying out of its gaping maws with the force of its fury.  Horace brought his shield front and center and glared at Guarm.

“Fan out!  Three sections!  Remember the flames!” Saskia yelled.

Yet, to Horace’s chagrin, she immediately ignored her own rule as Guarm reared up on its back legs, rushing forward before dropping down so that she slid on the mud underneath the beast’s stomach. The Dreadblades thrust up deep into its abdomen to elicit an agonized sound.  She barely had any time to scramble out from under Guarm as its front feet came crashing back down.

Horace held still, knees bent and weight centered to withstand the tremors that followed.  The moment it was safe to continue moving, however, he found his boots in the mud’s vacuum seal.  A terrifying conundrum to be in, considering that Guarm seemed ready to charge him at any minute.  He struggled to free himself one foot at a time, balance wavering on the slick terrain.  Finally, he was ready to keep fighting, and not a moment too soon.  As he looked up, each of Guarm’s mouths began to glow.

Its breath took the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping at the stars in his periphery.  He grimaced at the sickly orange gunk clinging to his armor but pressed forward, swinging his blade at its legs and boomeranging his shield at its chest.

“Go for the heads!  Blow this puppy to pieces!” commanded Rokhan.

From behind him, a be-spectacled goblin readied their sling, lighting the grenade inside before letting it fly.  It hit Guarm square in its first nose, and the shriek it let out made Horace’s teeth ache. Blinded, the head thrashed about with blood flying in every which direction.  Then it spun, using its tail to knock away the combatants.

Horace’s world went back as he was catapulted through the air, slamming into an embankment.  His whole head swam as he fought for each gulp of air he took in.  Despite his efforts, his limbs refused to cooperate.  More stars swam across his vision, threatening him with unconsciousness, but he refused to let it take control.  He needed to get back up there and fight.

“Get up!”

That didn’t sound like Saskia.  As the cotton in his head cleared out, he began to make out who it was.  The Forsaken archer was standing over him to protect him from Guarm’s wrath as he stampeded about, throwing his heads about in an epic tantrum.

Eventually, Horace was able to get to his feet, calling upon the Light to swathe him in its healing warmth.  It was then that he noticed the archer was covered in green.  Horror plain in his expression, he said, “You have to get back to your section!”

Guarm was ending its run, sliding back to where the tauren paladin was standing.  The archer bolted the moment those three deadly colors began appearing in its mouths, rejoining her group in the nick of time.

Once the waves passed, the goblin resumed its grenade tossing.  Even the little kegs of gunpowder did impressive damage against such a massive target.  In the end, that was what brought the beast to meet its maker--figuratively speaking, considering its maker was probably Helya--and come crashing down to the mud.

Both factions let out cheers of victory that easily drowned out the beast’s death throes.  Horace felt Naralex’s druidic healing upon him once more and inclined his head gratefully, the pain from his fall ebbing away to nothing.  Tanks were meant to take damage, of course, but it  _ hurt _ nonetheless.

This time, there was no opportunity for rest.  They pressed forward without even thinking about it as kvaldir emerged from the mists to avenge their queen’s beloved abomination.  Horace hacked and slashed them apart mindlessly, his thoughts consumed by something else.

Just ahead loomed Helya’s throne.  He was going to have to help kill her; it was far too late to back out.  A pit in his stomach grew from reluctance to end her life, knowing full well that she didn’t really deserve her fate.   _ Set her free.  End her suffering. _  Was he really, though?  Or just trying to justify a shit situation?

The face of the sea witch was visible as he rounded a corner, and it was  _ furious _ .  “You will pay for what you did to my pet!” she vowed.  He could swear she was staring right at him.

“I can’t do this, Saskia,” he breathed, eyes still glued to the former val’kyr before him.

The rogue was regarding him with something akin to hurt bewilderment.  “What?”

He didn’t get the chance to answer as Lorna’s icy scowl pierced his reluctance.  “Agent, I hope I don’t need to remind you the punishment for desertion,” she hissed.

Of course she was acting harsh.  It was a harsh thing to do, desert your comrades in arms.  For Horace, it meant more than just running from a fight.  His family would be interrogated.  He would never be able to visit them again without risking being caught and hung for his crime.  And, perhaps worst of all, his family would lose his income, the only reliable one available to them.

He swallowed hard.  This was quite a large fork in the road.  Each path seemed worthless, but he knew he had to choose, and quick.  Eventually, he sighed.  “No, Commander.”

She pointed towards the mob of Alliance and Horde making quick work of the kvaldir in their path.  “Get going.”

Saskia gave him a stiff pat on the back as they moved to join the fray.  “You got this, Lin.”

“Oh, no,” Helya sneered, screwing up her nose in disgust.  “Odyn’s mighty champions have come to end my reign.  Whatever shall I do?”

Horace pulled up his water skin and drank deeply.  His mouth was still bone dry, but at least he wouldn’t pass out from dehydration.  Several deep breaths had him calm and ready… as ready as he could be, anyhow.

Seeing Helya up close, in person, was enough to make even the most seasoned soldier’s resolve waver.  She towered above the champions, tentacles billowing up out of the water to grasp at the eroding pillars of stone jutting out of the muck.  Her veins were prominent against sallow gray-green skin, eyes glowing and leaking mist like tears, half a ship and yards upon yards of fishing net serving as her attire.  The same wings that had once marked her as val’kyr were now blackened and brine-soaked.

Odyn’s champions held fast to their weapons as she beckoned forth more monstrosities to throw at them.  From dreary skies, corrupted val’kyr floated down, hovering above the landings on either side of the sea witch.  Horace knew they would have to defeat these before they had any hope of beating Helya.

They shrieked at him when he approached, an unearthly and horrific sound that made him shake and almost collapse out of the fear that shot through his core.  To think Sylvanas wanted to create  _ more _ of these creatures, and that she very nearly got her way.  Everything that these val’kyr once were, the beauty and compassion of the Light that they once embodied, was sucked away and replaced with a chilling whiteness.

In dispatching them, some semblance of color began to return to the surrounding world.  With that color came the final battle.

Helya’s first attack was a gale-force wind that stopped them all in their tracks.  Those that could not keep their footing tumbled backward into the rocks.  Salt prickled Horace’s face with minute nicks that stung like nothing else.  By the time it was over, Lorna and Rokhan were rallying their fighters back into formation.  Melee fighters were relegated to a tight V-shape, with archers on the ends, that protected the spellcasters from the brunt of the attacks.  Horace and his paladin ally were at the forefront of the formation.

“Drown in despair, lapdogs of Odyn,” Helya hissed, swiping her clawed hands quickly across the two tanks.

Sparks flew off of Horace’s shield from where she scratched against it, leaving jagged but shallow rips in the metal.  It was in moments like these that he was beyond grateful to possess a shield, albeit a strange-looking one.

Helya cursed her opponents and thrust forward her open palm.  A slimy substance began to bubble up from the flesh of several champions.  Horace did his best to ignore their frightened screams as they broke away from the formation, a trail of green eating away at the stones.

With the loss of those victims, the healers bunched tighter, seeking the remaining protection of their melee counterparts.  Both Horace and the tauren set down circles of consecration at the edge of the waves, the water it touched boiling and frothing as the corruption was cleansed from it.  Helya did her best to avoid it, but it still reached her.  She grimaced as it seared her skin, leaving oozing red sores in its wake.  Even the dread queen of the underworld, corrupted beyond all possible redemption, could still bleed red.

“You, too, shall come into the fold.”  At those words, two ships burst from the sea, crashing down upon the champions with the waves.  Kvaldir flung themselves off their vessels and into the fray.

Strengthening the force of his consecration spell, Horace channelled Light into his sword and used it to strike them down, helping to swiftly turn twenty into ten, then five, then none.  Now all he had to do was avoid slipping on the piles of seaweed beneath his feet.  Helya’s increased fury at seeing her forces decimated to easily was keeping his on his toes.

The sea witch continued her barrage of plague on unfortunate fighters.  Though the effect wore off eventually, it was forcing the healers to work overtime to keep the corrosive substance from eating their comrades alive.  It hurt worse than when the fel infernal had smacked him in Westfall.  Light, that seemed like so long ago.

Her worst attack was yet to come, however.  In one swift motion, she reared back, then threw herself forward with an earth-shattering roar.  A tidal wave crashed down upon the Alliance and Horde; before Horace could react, he was swept up in it.

His lungs screamed for air as he blindly flailed about.  The water was so dark and murky that he couldn’t see which way was up, and, as black spots danced through his periphery, a sense of dread crept into his forethoughts that this was the end.  Just like in the heroic sagas he cherished as a child, his life flashed before his eyes.

The rolling green hills with grass moving like an ocean’s waves.  The endless, open sky filled with fluffy clouds.  Splashing around in the mud with his sisters and friends during rainstorm and absolutely shrieking with laughter.  Telling his parents he was a boy.  Their initial confusion becoming unconditional support.  Pants instead of a skirt.  The Cataclysm.  The dust, the wind, the nights kept from sleep by the rumbling of his stomach.  His mother’s tears as she begged him not to leave.  Homesickness, his body becoming stronger every day.  The pride in Sir Arthur’s eyes.

Suddenly, the water washed away.  Horace gasped and spluttered as he was finally able to breathe again.  Staggering to his feet, he grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes, bringing himself into a defensive stance.  Regardless of his feelings towards this task, he was going to see his family again.  The moment his vision cleared, he charged.

Helya was ready for him.  She swiped, but he dodged her with a roll and came up swinging.  The Light flooded the area around him, swathing him in a protective barrier.  He launched his shield up at her, cutting her cheek.  To the left were his Horde allies; to the right, the Alliance.  Helya’s power was fast waning with their combined might.

An arrow sang over his head and caught her square in the right eye.  Her hand flew up to the injury, leaving her open to attacks from the spellcasters.  She cried out in pain and tried to retaliate, but she was weak, and her claws were easily deflected.

It was the tauren paladin who delivered the final blow.  Her blade sunk into Helya’s throat the moment the opportunity presented itself.  Blood gushed from the wound, leaving Helya clutching desperately at her throat as she choked.  Horace turned away, barely suppressing a retch at the sight.

He looked back, however, unable to help himself.  She collapsed forward with a gurgling cry of anguish, the ground trembling under the force of the blow.  To his amazement, the mist shrouding her eyes wafted away on the breeze, and he saw a normal iris and pupil in its place.  He could feel a lump in his throat as her somber brown eye shed a single, sparkling tear.  It crept down the bridge of her nose before falling into the sea.  The frothing waves ebbed to a gentle purr, and the champions took up a cheer.

Behind him, Odyn materialized with his val’kyr and launched into a speech lauding his heroes for their victory against the darkness.  Horace hardly listened.  Seeing Helya’s life slip away, knowing that he had been part of the reason why, he felt like the farthest thing from a hero.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, he let his sword and shield clatter to the ground.  He knelt next to Helya, removing a glove so he could place his bare hand on her temple.  Her skin was surprisingly smooth, scoured to silk by the ocean’s salt.

“May the Light guide your soul to peace,” he told her.

She said nothing, but something akin to a smile ghosted across her face, bringing a shine to her eye.  Then it closed, and the rasping of her breath tapered off to silence.

He stayed with her for a few moments longer before there was a hand on his shoulder.  Saskia was practically glowing with pride at her achievement.  He knew that she was still trying to be supportive of him, and appreciated it, but found it hard to sympathize.

“One more,” she reminded him.

Standing, he nodded, and moved to retrieve his gear.  “One more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to take a second to thank all my readers and especially the people who have left such sweet comments. every time i need a pick me up i go back and read what you've written and it makes me feel all warm and mushy~


	13. Lodi Dodi, It's Time To Kill Skadi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once you hit the asterisk, open up another tab and pop on "geminid meteor shower" by sleeping at last ("total solar eclipse" also works for this part); this is what i listened to while writing that part and was repeatedly attacked by pride for my paladin and his cool lesbian friend. enjoy~

In the distance, ever so faintly, Horace and Saskia could see the silhouette of a proto-drake circling in the sky.  As they drew closer, it grew larger and larger until its full, hulking mass became apparent. This was something to clearly sinister yet tormented that it made Horace’s heart ache.  From its chest protruded three harpoons broken off at the haft.  The flesh around the wounds never healed over, leaving gaping, oozing holes, with the missiles tugging them wider.  Its scales, probably once a brilliant blue like Darcy’s, were now dulled, and mottled with greenish-beige from disease, and its horns were cracked and splintered at the edges.

“Grauf,” Saskia informed him.  “Skadi’s beast.”

He frowned.  “Poor thing; no animal deserves this.”

Drawing her cutlasses, she replied, “Won’t have to much longer.”

“Right.”

Grauf was circling over an island just off the southern coast.  Luckily, there was a small boat beached not too far downwind from where they were.  Horace volunteered to row, mostly to keep the seasickness at bay.  Calmer waves didn’t always mean a calmer stomach.  Saskia leaped off the boat the moment it scraped against the rocks, helping him haul it to shore.  With any luck, it wouldn’t be destroyed in the fight.

Kneeling, Saskia began to rummage through her satchel, procuring a tattered flag, a small bottle of what was most likely moonshine, and a box of matches.  She soaked the flag in the alcohol and stood with a lit match.  “Hey, Skadi!  Check this out!” she yelled, and tossed them both on the ground.

“Who dares incur the wrath of the Ymirjar?”

Horace looked up and braced himself as the proto-drake swooped down to the tiny island.  “I’ll handle Grauf,” he told Saskia.

“Thanks again for this,” she said, flashing a smile.

He shrugged.  “What are friends for, if not tools for vengeance.

She threw her head back and cackled.

Unlike the kvaldir, Skadi wasn’t made of kelp.  He was practically falling apart instead, his flesh riddled with decay.  A hacking laugh escaped him the moment his sunken eyes found Saskia.  “So, Roland’s puny brat survived?  Good to know Ymiron still remembers to save me the kill!”

“Ymiron is eating shit in hell right now,” Saskia spat.  “And we’re going to send your soul screaming into oblivion with him.”

“Ah, screaming, eh?  Like that traitorous scum Halvar?”

With a furious battle cry, she launched herself at him, eyes blazing and Dreadblades poised to strike.  In the same moment, Horace used his shield to get Grauf’s attention before it could defend its master.  The beast opened its maw with a series of sickening cracks to let loose a stream of flame.

He barely managed to roll away in time as frostfire licked his armor.  It seemed that Grauf was much more interested in eating Saskia, however, leaving Horace to throw stones at it until he got close to keep it distracted.  He knew that he needed to work fast to put it out of its misery; it had suffered long enough.  The first chance he got, he plunged his sword straight through its skull, its rotted hide like warm butter.  Grauf’s roar was cut short and it collapsed in a heap on the ground.

To aid Saskia, he slapped down a circle of consecration underneath Skadi, singing his feet in their boots.  Yet, despite the damage it did, the ruthless vrykul seemed unperturbed, continuing his brutal assault that Saskia met with lightning-fast and ruthless attacks.  This was a warrior who had been chosen to be King Ymiron’s right hand, and he was not going to do down easily.  Every strike Saskia made was countered with two more brutally efficient ones, and it was starting to wear her down.

Horace wished that they had stopped to rest for a while after the fight with Helya as he tried to use what little he knew of healing magic to bolster her defenses and heal her wounds.  But he was a protector, and his spells were a tad shoddy; not what she needed at the moment, yet he knew that, if he stole the kill from her, she was going to be beyond pissed at him, so he just tried to do his best. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the runestone she had given him and crushed it.  Indeed, he felt a rush of strength and poured it into his spells, hoping that it would last long enough to end this and get them back to the surface world.

As he watched her fight, he could see something begin to change with her Dreadblades.  Their normal dull glow was now a bright crimson, like blood caught in sunlight, a residual energy trailing behind every movement.  Saskia’s eyes mimicked her blades, and she bared her teeth and shrieked like a banshee at Skadi.  Her attacks were hitting harder, beating her opponent back as if he wasn’t almost three times her size and greatly powerful.  Even Skadi seemed unnerved by this sudden occurrence, mouth agape as he struggled to parry and return fire.

Saskia jumped into the air, bringing the Dreadblades crashing down into Skadi’s shoulders and burying themselves deep.  The force knocked him back, taking Saskia with him, but she kept her balance and planted her feet firmly on his chest.

Chest heaving, she yanked them free with a sickly wet sound and gazed down at Skadi.  Whatever spell she had cast upon herself was fading fast, and she shook terribly, but she held herself tall and refused to budge.  “You brought torment and destruction to innocents.  You stole children from their parents and cut them down like they were nothing.  You took  _ everything  _ from my family.  I hope you never know peace where you’re going.”

Skadi chuckled, then spit blood up at her.  When she didn’t flinch, his face contorted into a snarl.  “Oh, I’ll know peace,” he croaked.  “Will you?”

Saskia plunged her blade between his eyes.  His limbs convulsed, and he went limp.

When she didn’t move from where she stood on Skadi’s chest, Horace tentatively called her name.  He let out a curse and scrambled towards her as her knees buckled and she fell sideways into the muck.  Cradling her upper body in his arms, he checked her over and found, to his relief, that she was still alive and breathing, just exhausted.  Her lower lip quivered, and tears slipped down her face.

“Come on, Saskia, we have to get back,” he reminded her, trying to sound as gentle as he could.  “I’ll carry you; I don’t mind.”

He ended up supporting her as she staggered wearily, holding her upright as best she could.  The boat ride was short and silent, save for the waves against the sand, and the walk was long and tedious.

When Saskia began mumbling, he ignored her at first to better focus on the task at hand, but when she raised her voice, he listened.  “I don’t think I’ll know peace,” she admitted, voice thick with emotion.

“Of course you will, you just have to give it time,” he assured her.

She shook her head.  “My scars aren’t gone… I still remember what we endured because of him and Ymiron.  Nothing and no one I lost magically appeared when he died.”  She sighed.  “I think I have to stop focusing so much on the past.”

“I think you might be right.”

“I think I should focus on the people I still have.”

He smiled tiredly and shifted her weight so that it was easier to support her.  “That’s a good idea.  Friends are for helping you with that, too, by the way.”

By the time the two reached Helya’s throne where a few val’kyr remained to tend to the mess, Horace was almost ready to fall over himself.

Gudrun was the first to notice them, flying over as Horace lowered Saskia to the ground.  “We were concerned when you vanished; it is a good thing we stayed,” she declared.

He nodded, waiting while her healing Light lifted his spirit and restored both him and Saskia to full health.  The rogue sat up next to him, eyes bloodshot, and looked around.  “Can you take us back?” she asked the val’kyr.

“We can.”  Gudrun beckoned her sisters over.  “Brace yourselves, champions.”

 

                                                                                                                                                            *

 

Outside the Temple of Valor, a fresh layer of snow had found purchase on the ground, and shimmered in the starlight.  Horace looked to the sky and found it fit to burst with waves of dancing light in every color imaginable, all floating through an ocean of inky darkness and hot white stars.

“The aurora borealis.”  Saskia whistled lowly.  “Never thought we’d see it this far south.”

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed, mouth agape in sheer awe.

“Yeah.”  Head still tilted skyward, the rogue placed a hand on Horace’s shoulder.

Without a doubt, he could see a million more nights like this and still be just as awestruck as he was now.  His eyes ached from the brightness but  _ Light _ he could not bring himself to care.  He made a note to take his family here, after the war was over and it was safe; he knew they would love it.  The crisp winter wind ruffled his hair as it lazed past, and he breathed it in, relishing in how clean and good it felt searing his lungs.

He had just survived Helheim.  Twice.  That was no small feat.  Having seen such horrors, being able to take in such raw, pure beauty settled a weight in his throat.  Outside this little bubble of peace raged a tremendous war that he would have to face.  Yet he knew that he could take his time, truly savor what existed before him.

A shooting star rocketed over his head and winked out of existence in the blink of an eye.  It seemed a little silly, to wish upon stars at his age, but still he thought of a thousand things to wish for.  In the end, it only felt right to ask for what he did:  _ I wish to help create a better tomorrow. _  What a monumental task.

The few tears that fell grew cold where they sat, but he embraced them.  He cried because he loved the world and loved being alive.  There was no shame in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside his chest.  He immediately recognized it as the Light, and, like a sack of bricks, it hit him: the Light was not the physical manifestation of some god or cosmic being.  It was something inside of him; it was the love in his heart, the fire in his eyes, the will to exist and keep fighting for the good of the world.  All his triumphs and failures, his joys and sorrows, were all the Light.  And it was in everyone and everything in the universe.  Saskia, the val’kyr, Helya, the Alliance, the Horde, the earth, the wind, and the rain… all of it shared that same spark.

That truth awakened a tranquility inside him that he had never known before.  He felt… righteous.  Sure-footed.   _ Alive. _  A world at war did not mean that there wasn’t any love left.  Azeroth could be at peace, just as surely as the sun would rise in the morning.

“You’re glowing.”  The amber of Saskia’s eyes shone in the dimness of the night as she grinned at him.

Horace laughed along with her.  “You, too.”

“No, you’re actually glowing.  Look.”

He raised his hand and his eyebrows shot up.  She was right; a golden aura surrounded him from head to toe.  The Light in his soul radiated outward, growing brighter as he looked back at the rogue. A scant four months had passed, but in that time they had come together to help realize something greater than themselves.  In Saskia, he found a sparring partner, comrade in arms, a guide, a confidant, and, above all else, he found the unwavering love of a true friend.  Opening his arms, he took a step forward and brought her into a tight hug, which she gladly returned.  No words were spoken, for none were needed.

Eventually, they broke apart.  Saskia sniffled, then took a deep, steadying breath.  “Well… ready to head home?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, his heart fluttering at the idea of being able to sleep in his own bed and see his family again.

When they were halfway down the temple steps, Horace paused to look back at the magnificent structure behind him.  It was a part of him, now, a symbol of all he had become.  Someday, maybe he would go back, when he was old and grey and his time in this life was at an end.  Then he looked forward, to the great wide world spread out before him, and took heart in knowing that he would never, ever, have to face it alone.

 

                                                                                                                                                      END OF PART 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had no idea when i began writing this that it would accrue so many hits or kudos, or that people would leave such sweet, wonderful comments. i love reading each and every one of them and i'm so glad that my story makes you happy because it makes me happy to write it.
> 
> in part 2, we'll get to see more of natalie and what she's up to, including what her unauthorized experiment is and what jaina's planning for her. anduin and horace will start to spend more time with each other and be awkward because of their Feelings(TM) for each other.
> 
> i also started a writing blog on tumblr for my english class that'll have some of my assignments as well as game design projects i'm working on and you can find it at creativelycole.tumblr.com
> 
> thank you again; i can't wait to see what the future has in store!


	14. Merry Winter Veil, Ya Filthy Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of part 2! Horace and Saskia return home and spend the holidays with the people they love.

Horace and Saskia had managed to snag a gryphon ride to Dalaran the morning after they arrived back at Greywatch.  It was the first day of Winter Veil, and the floating city was all gussied up for the occasion, except for the parts the Legion had smashed, of course.  While Saskia excused herself to perform some top-secret Shadowblade duties, Horace wandered into the Legerdemain Lounge and found an empty chair.  Despite being in his armor, he found himself melting into the plush upholstery with a contented sigh.

The next thing he knew, Saskia was shaking him awake.  He yawned, rubbing his bleary eyes, and asked, “Are we leaving?”

“Yup.  Time to head home.”  She extended a hand and helped him to his feet.

Light, hearing those words filled him with so much joy.  They walked through the cobbled streets of Dalaran wordlessly, taking in all the sights and sounds it had to offer.  Horace enjoyed the doomsayer raving on their soapbox considerably less so, but did his best to ignore it and window-shop a bit.  The scent of fresh, warm bread wafting out of a bakery made his stomach growl loud enough that Saskia snorted.

“Hungry at all?” she teased, beckoning him inside with a wave of her hand.  “Probably not a good idea to portal on an empty stomach, anyways.”

The bakery had a variety of foods to pair with their main fare; he chose a bowl of beef minestrone soup and a thick slice of pumpernickel.  Being a battle-hardened warrior was hungry work.

“Are you okay?” he asked Saskia.

She shrugged, mindlessly playing with her toothpick.  “Just focusing on what I have.”  She speared a strawberry and popped it in her mouth.

“Is it hard?”

“Yeah.”

An uncomfortable pause took hold as another question tickled the back of his mind.  “Did it feel good to kill Skadi?” he finally said.

“For about two minutes.  I think…”  She sighed.  “The Scourge War killed everyone who was to blame before I could.  I think I just jumped at the chance to finally take my anger out on somebody.”

“I get that.”  Besides, he didn’t have any room to judge.  Sure, he had been through scary stuff, but not  _ that _ .  “If you don’t mind me asking… who was Halvar?”

“My uncle.  Tried to defect from Ymiron’s army and was executed.”

He frowned.  “My uncle was killed in the Scouge War, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied.

“Thanks.  It was a long time ago, though; I made peace with it.”  His father had been the most upset-- it had been his brother, after all.

Saskia polished off her meal and announced, “This is awful holiday conversation.”

“Yeah,” he agreed sullenly.  He perked back up a few moments later.  “Excited to see Natalie again?”

“Oh,  _ absolutely _ .  Excited to see Anduin again?” she returned slyly, arching an eyebrow and resting her chin on her knuckles.

Damn her, he could feel himself blushing.  “Yes,” he muttered.

“You should ask him out sometime.”

Her voice was earnest, but he knew that she thought this amusing.  “W-wha-how?” he spluttered.  “He’s a king!  There are rules, and social standards, and  _ people _ .  Snooty, mean, conservative people, Saskia!”

She deadpanned.  “Horace James Lin, you just fought four minor gods and won.  You shouldn’t have to give a shit about any of that.”  
“But I do.  You’re probably the only person who doesn’t,” he insisted.  Butterflies fluttered around in his stomach at the thought.

“Natalie doesn’t care.  She thinks you two’d be cute.”

Slumping in his chair, he retorted weakly, “She thinks baby murlocs are cute.”

“Because they are.”  Reaching over, she poked his hand.  “Come on, let’s head back.  Stormwind misses its knights in shining armor.”

                                                                                                                                                     *

Saskia managed to filch some clean clothes for Horace while he was taking his first hot bath (or bath in general) of the past few weeks.  Helheim was a filthy place; even his dirt had dirt, and his gear fared no better.

The new outfit was simple: brown jodhpurs and a crisp beige shirt.  He garnered a sense of security from the way his binder pressed firmly against his chest, regarding it as a second skin.  Taking a deep breath, he strolled out of the bathroom…

… And into the middle of an exasperated king’s tirade towards his agent.

“Three and a half  _ months _ !  And only one report!” Anduin squawked.  “I thought you were dead.”  His expression became almost anguished at those last words.

Saskia ran a hand through her hair and sighed.  “Hey, look, I’m sorry.  I would have if I could, but there’s no mail service in Helheim.”

“Hel- How long were you down there?” he asked.

She shrugged and made a noncommittal noise.  “Time flowed differently.  Probably two months or so, the first time, a few weeks the second.”

Horace’s heart skipped a beat.  He had only written his family once; they must be worried sick.  He was definitely bringing his mom flowers, maybe some nice chocolate.

Anduin finally noticed the extra body in the room, nearly leaping out of his skin and going red in the face.  “I-uh… I…”  Then he turned on his heel and hurried out of the room.

“Ten minutes,” Saskia told Horace as she followed the frazzled king.

It ended up being roughly thirty minutes before he saw her again.  She undid her ponytail and teased her hair down with another long, tired sigh.  Horace regarded her inquisitively.

“Sorry about that.  Just had to help talk him down,” she explained.

“Is he alright?”  If the deep bruises under Anduin’s eyes were any indicator, he probably wasn’t feeling too fantastic.

“I think he will be, if Greymane gives him two seconds of peace, anyhow.  The holidays are hard when you’ve just lost someone.”

He nodded.  “You going to visit your family?”

“Yeah, all the Darkmoon people get together for this big dinner on Winter Veil.  I get invited because my family’s there.  By the way, most of the refugees from Westfall are at the Whistle and Pig, now, if they’re not already heading back.”

“I’ll have to check.”  In truth, he hoped they were still in Stormwind.  He wasn’t ready to go back to see how much of Westfall was left after the Legion’s attack.  There was about a zero point two percent chance any tax dollars were being delegated to rebuilding the territory; there hadn’t even been after the Cataclysm.

Looking in the little vanity mirror propped up on the dresser, he said, “Hair’s getting shaggy.  Can I borrow some scissors?”

“Horace, please let me cut your hair.”

“What’s wrong with how I cut it?” he asked indignantly.

Saskia was already opening a drawer and pulling out an assortment of beauty products.  “It’s all uneven.  Please?”

Rolling his eyes, he conceded, prompting her to sit him down and drape a towel over his shoulders, a satisfied grin on her face.  “Do you want layers?”

“You know I have no idea what that means.”

“It means you’ll look even more stylish.”

He shrugged.  “Fine, go nuts.”

                                                                                                                                                 *

At around four o’clock that day, Horace arrived at the Whistle and Pig tavern with a big bouquet of colorful wildflowers and a box of those fancy chocolate with the fruit centers.  His family was indeed there, according to the tavernkeep, who directed him to the third room on the right side of the upper floor.  Heart fluttering excitedly in his chest, he could hardly hide his smile as he knocked on the door.

He heard a muffled, “Izzy, answer the door, would you?” and his grin doubled in size.

The instant the middle Lin child saw his face she was tackling him in a bear bug, nearly knocking the gifts out of his hands.  Emma let out a cry of surprise before rushing to embrace him, sobbing with relief and showering him with kisses.  Feng and Maggie followed suit, the former setting the flowers and chocolate aside, then completing the group hug, his own eyes watery as he kissed his son’s head.

The Saldeans, staying in the adjacent room, emerged to investigate the commotion and lit up in delight.  “Good to see you again, dear!” Salma exclaimed.  “Are you staying long?”

He nodded eagerly.  “Through the new year, if I can help it.”

Emma held him closer.  “Through the end of the war, if I can help it.  Oh, we were so worried.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t write more.”  Horace’s brow knit.  “I’ve had the strangest time.”

“Come inside, brave adventurer,” Feng offered, “and regale us with your tales.”

                                                                                                                                                   *

A group of bards were setting up on the main floor by the time the Lin family went downstairs for dinner.  There was a hearty meal available for those that crowded in to hear the band play that night. Drinks flowed freely, and there was laughter and merriment from every patron.  Horace continued his retelling of events, always feeling a pang of guilt when they looked nervous at how much danger he had been in.

Horace and his sisters made faces at their father as he led their mother over to the little piece of mistletoe hanging above the fireplace to ask for a kiss.  Emma gladly obliged him, of course, earning the two a pretend gag from Izzy and a, “Cooties!” from Maggie while Horace laughed on, filled with the most wonderful happiness at being alive and with the people he loved once again.

                                                                                                                                                    *

The people of the Darkmoon Faire were a raucous bunch.  They only quieted long enough for Silas to give a rousing speech and toast to his employees before erupting into cheers.  

People took turns playing music for the rest to dance and sing along to in between drinks, every instrument imaginable at their disposal.  Saskia sat cross-legged on the ground with Delilah in her lap, helping her beat a tambourine in time to Loic and Chrys’s duet, harmonizing where she saw fit.  Her mother and father, Gracelyn and Roland, slow-danced at the acoustic rendition of “Moon River” that included their daughter-in-law’s superb cello skills.

By the time nine o’clock rolled around, Del was crashed out in Saskia’s arms.  As much as she wanted to dance with the ballerinas, she couldn’t bring herself to move and wake the tuckered toddler. Luckily, Loic swooped in to take his child, humming softly as he took her to the Rastout family tent to put to bed.

Saskia seized the opportunity and hopped up, stretching her stiff legs quickly and leaping into the fray.  It felt incredible to kick up her heels and let loose like this, flying through the grassy knoll and twirling until she was dizzy.  Fatima, the prima ballerina, grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up in the air, eliciting a happy shriek as she prepared to land in a perfect first position plie.

After a time, she finally fell back onto the grass, laughing like an idiot and lightheaded and a little drunk but so, so happy, happier than she had been in a long time.

                                                                                                                                                      *

Natalie had been settling in well to her position as Lady Proudmoore’s apprentice, finding great joy in assisting the archmage’s research as well as having a great deal more freedom to continue her own experiments.  She had been allowed a reprieve from her studies to spend Winter Veil in Dalaran with her family, thankfully; she was terrible about remembering to get people gifts if they weren’t right in front of her face.

It was nice to be able to set aside her worries and simply focus on her family.  She sat attentively, barely touching her food as her parents spent all of dinner telling her stories of the Explorer’s League’s ventures into Azsuna.  The tales of Nar’thalas Academy in particular mesmerized her, and she made a mental note to make sure she visited the place someday.  She could just imagine how many books were in a place like that, all the knowledge lost to the ages and wars past, all that she could discover and expand and improve upon, sending a shiver of excitement up her spine.

Her family was overjoyed to hear about her apprenticeship to Lady Proudmoore, remarking that they always knew she was destined for great things, from the time she accidentally lit her first set of curtains on fire.  She giggled sheepishly at the memory and the praise.  She hoped that she could live up to the hype built around her.  

She decided that her New Year’s resolution was to make sure she did.

                                                                                                                                                       *

The House of Nobles had insisted on a banquet to celebrate the holidays and “raise morale,” even if they were not truly affected by the war.  As king, Anduin was forced to humor them despite very much not being in the mood for mindless chit-chat.  He was exhausted, his work endless and his burdens making for poor sleep aids, and wanted nothing more than to be alone to rest.  He spent the whole evening filled with regret at not accepting Saskia’s invitation to spend tonight with her at the Darkmoon Faire.

No one noticed his melancholy except for Velen.  But, then again, Velen noticed everything about everyone, so Anduin wasn’t that surprised.  Having spent his whole childhood schooled in etiquette and diplomacy, he was able to keep a calm, sunny facade up, even with the gnawing emptiness in his soul and the chronic ache of old injuries flaring up in his body.

An agonizing five hours that felt like ten years later, it was finally appropriate to excuse himself.  The moment he was out of sight, he let his guard down, practically staggering back to his room.  It occurred to him that he looked drunk, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  He never drank, anyways, not even at special occasions or when a guest being offered some-- an irrational phobia instilled in him from earlier years.

Closing and locking the door to his room, he let out a shaky sigh that melted into a sob.  He did away with his formal wear and prosthetic leg in exchange for a soft shirt and flannel pants before collapsing onto the bed, curling in on his pillow as more sobs escaped him.   _ Light _ , he missed his father more than anything.  He would give his one remaining leg and both his arms to be able to see him again, even once, just to say goodbye.  It ate at him that he had driven Jaina away.  She was the closest thing he had ever had to a mother; he needed her now, more than ever, needed her kind words and comforting presence to help him cope with tonight and be glad he would wake up in the morning.  Yet he doubted she was coming back.

That night, he decided that he hated winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anduin, you poor, sad, deeply-closeted gay man. and yes that last sentence was a reference to christie golden's arthas, rise of the lich king, even though i can't stand crusty hold'ems.
> 
> new new year's resolution is to have this polished off by the time battle for azeroth is released on september 21st.


	15. The Gang Goes to Sparkletown

Kul’Tiras would have been a fantastic place to wander around and explore… if she had the chance to.  It wasn’t all bad, however, considering her situation.  Apprentice to Archmage Jaina Proudmoore was no small title.  Yet she was an adventurer, and she wanted so badly to find adventure in this new land.  Lady Proudmoore was adamant that she accompany Natalie on account of the dangers presented to newcomers, even going so far as to place disguises on them both.  Tiragarde Sound was infested with pirates that would greatly enjoy snatching up a young mage, not to mention the political unrest the archipelago faced.

This position, so far from the prying eyes of her Kirin Tor superiors, allowed her a great deal more freedom.  She had access to her mentor’s absolutely massive laboratory and library, and spent her free time like a kid in a candy store.  Her very unauthorized experiment was splayed out on a bench in the corner, crystals and dusts and herbs delegated to neat little piles of what worked and what didn’t.

In general, experimenting on live subjects was frowned upon.  But there was nothing against being one’s own guinea pig, so Natalie had zero worries about expulsion.  Her more mechanically-inclined friend, Tazzie Blastowitz, had been kind enough to build her a device to measure soundwaves for this very test.  Being that she had calibrated all previous vocal augments by ear, some aspects of her routine would probably have to be altered to accommodate the increased accuracy.

Settling cross-legged on the floor, she began by centering her mind and attuning to her crystals.  A few sticks of incense hung in a nearby censer to cleanse the air.  She hummed several tunes with her vocal augment on to produce a better reading of her pitch, then moved on to sentences, laughter, screams, and finally fake sobs.  Satisfied, she loaded in more paper and removed her necklace.

A wand would normally be required for extended channelling, but she needed to be able to poke and prod and really feel her way around all the components powering her speech abilities.  Her fingers would be much better suited to that task.  The anatomy book to the right and a floating mirror guided her in marking up her throat with crude diagrams.  She really, truly hoped she wouldn’t have to operate on herself.  She could watch surgeries on other people while eating spaghetti and tomato sauce, but the thought of dealing with her own blood made her uneasy.

With the machine, she could get her speech organs to mimic the same pitch as what her vocal augment was calibrated to exactly.  Hardly able to keep the anticipatory grin from her face, she began to channel.

 

Walking up to Lady Proudmoore to hand her a note made Natalie feel the shame of a puppy scolded for destroying a brand new roll of toilet paper.  The archmage took the note, a bit puzzled, read it, and had to suppress a laugh looking back up at her apprentice.

“Certainly got yourself in quite a pickle,” she chided lightly.  Seeing Natalie nod sullenly, she beckoned her over to a nearby chair.  “Here, let me see if I can fix this.”

Natalie sat and tilted her head back, doing her best to observe Lady Proudmoore’s methods.  After roughly ten minutes, she was able to speak again.  “Thank you, ma’am,” she breathed.

“I’ve told you, you can call me Jaina.”  She reached over to her desk and pulled over a map of the Broken Isles.  “A little birdie told me the Kirin Toe is planning to take Suramar in the coming months. The elves there undoubtedly have thousands of years worth of lost arcane knowledge.”

All previous embarrassment melted away; she was practically vibrating with excitement.  “Whatever you need, Lady Jaina!”

“Excellent.  I need you to retrieve what you can from Suramar’s scholarly libraries.”

Natalie didn’t even care why, she just wanted to get started _immediately_.

“You’ll need a bodyguard, of course.  Do you know anyone who would be available?” Jaina continued.

She nodded.  “I know two, actually.”

The first thing Saskia did when Natalie asked her to join her in Suramar was dip her and kiss her cheek ever so sweetly.  Natalie laughed in delight and pecked her on the lips in return.  “So that’s a yes?” she teased.

Pulling her back upright, the rogue replied, “It would be my honor to accompany you, my darling.  When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.  Lady Proudmoore’s arranged to have us teleported just outside the city.”  She was grinning from ear to ear.  “The amount of lost knowledge we’ll find will probably be staggering; I can hardly wait!”  She kissed Saskia again with a giggle, but when she looked up, her grin took on a slier note.

Saskia arched a quizzical eyebrow.  Natalie pointed past her, and, after she turned around, a chuckle escaped her.  Anduin and Horace had run into each other on the other side of the keep’s garden and were stumbling over small talk.  The ladies watched them with a sense of morbid curiosity.

“Do you think we can get them on a double date with us?” Natalie whispered.

“We are honor-bound to try.”  Saskia tapped a finger against her lips.  “Methinks we must let distance make these hearts fonder.”

The mage apprentice nodded slowly.  “Oh, absolutely. This is going to be enormous fun.”

Someone outside their line of sight called to Anduin, drawing his attention away.  Saskia cursed Genn under her breath for cock-blocking.  The two men said their goodbyes, chuckling and half-wavin. Horace lingered in place for a few moments, hands clasped in front of him, his face enveloped in a deep blush.

Natalie tried to keep quiet, but her laughter echoed off the wall of the open hallway adjacent to the garden.  Horace nearly leaped out of his skin when he heard her, his face frazzled as he made his way quickly over.

“Were you listening?” he spluttered.

She waved a dismissive hand.  “Only watching.”  Then, she leaned forward.  “Why, what were you talking about?”

“W-we were just talking about…”  He paused to gesticulate with his hands, at a loss for words.  “Stuff.”

Saskia nodded as if she understood completely.  “Will you someday talk about things as well?”

“Oh, yes, I love talking about things,” Natalie chimed.

Horace deadpanned.  “You two aren’t being very sympathetic to my situation,” he remarked druly.

“On the contrary, we’re very invested in your feelings.  Playing matchmaker for you and Anduin is quite enjoyable,” she replied.

His blush returned full-force, and he looked around to ensure that no one else had heard.  “Come on, that’s probably never gonna happen.”

Saskia smacked her forehead.  Natalie gaped in disbelief before poking his sternum and saying, “He likes you.  He turns into an idiot when we mention you.”

“A-are you sure?” he asked, a mix of incredulity and fluster.

“Yes!”  She grabbed his by the shoulders.  “Go.  Get a piece of that.  You deserve it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Caught off guard, but nonetheless willing.  Excellent.

 

The next day, the three of them were packed and ready to go.  Horace hefted his pack onto his shoulders and raised his eyebrows imploringly at Natalie.

“Let’s do this,” she declared.

Just as she started to cast the teleportation spell, an approaching figure bayed them wait.  Anduin walked over to them with the help of his crutch, a box tucked under his free arm.  “Mind if I borrow you for a moment, Horace?”

“We’ll be over there,” Natalie told the two of them, gesturing nowhere in particular with a thumb.  As she and Saskia left, she winked.

Horace ran a hand through his hair, trying to give off a calm, casual vibe.  “Good morning, Anduin.”

“Good morning.”  He cleared his throat, presenting him with the box.  “If you don’t mind, when you find things the Alliance may be able to use, could you, ah, could you write me about them?  If you don’t mind.  There’s plenty of stationary in there for you.”

“Oh, yeah!  Sure, no problem.”  Horace set down his pack and found a free space to store the supplies.

“Thank you; I really appreciate it.”  Anduin offered him a winning smile that made butterflies dance through his belly.  “Safe travels.”

“Thanks!  I’ll keep an eye out for anything useful.”

Natalie and Saskia awaited him with knowing glints in their eyes.  They waved goodbye to Anduin, then were out of sight in a flash of arcane light.

 

“Okay, first thing’s first: we need to find a library,” Natalie declared.

Horace wiped the sweat from his brow as he paused to inspect his handiwork.  The three of them would be sharing the tent he had just pitched, meaning that the coming nights would be quite cramped, but it was better than nothing.  If it was cold now, it would be worse once the sun set.

“How far into the city should we go?” Saskia asked.

Currently, they were camped on a ridge overlooking the western outskirts of Suramar City, with their backs to Felsoul Hold.  Enemies on either side would make things tricky, but Natalie had thankfully disguised their campsite with a web of barriers. An untrained eye--like his--could only see a very wide tree.

Natalie hummed thoughtfully.  “My teleportation spells aren’t too stellar, still.  I think as long as we keep an eye on escape routes, we should be okay.”

“If all else fails, I have a couple of smoke bombs.”  Saskia gently pat a satchel at her hip.

Horace made a mental note to have a handkerchief ready.

“Alright, let’s get moving.”  Natalie clasped her hands together in front of her chest, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  “This is going to be  _so_ fun.”

Saskia slung an arm around her shoulders.  “Babe, with you, everything is fun.”

They started down the slope, taking caution not to bump into any guards.  Natalie’s arcane intuition kept them well aware of the traps placed along the city’s perimeter.  In front of them sprawled a grand estate with manicured lawns and verdant flora cascading down from the rims of ornate pottery.  Smooth cobblestone paths winded towards and around buildings, ultimately ending at an absolute behemoth of a house of someone who was, presumably, very rich.

“I can sense a congregation of arcane energy about half a mile from here,” Natalie whispered as they darted between buildings.  “It’s fluctuating pretty wildly, meaning that there’s some poorly-done spell-casting, most likely from students. And, where there’s students, there’s books.”

“Lead the way,” Saskia offered.

From the estate’s walled edge, the trio was allowed a substantial view of Suramar City.  They gawked in awe at the beauty of the elven stronghold. This was a place whose grandeur blew Stormwind’s out of the water.  Blues, violets, greens and golds blended together to create a lush urban landscape, with spires and domes reaching the sky. The lower buildings had flat rooftops covered in lavish garden patios.  The most elaborate dwellings were on the upper terraces, from which the elite could gaze upon their domain. The willow trees glinted in the late morning light, their leaves so soaked with magical essence that one could smell it in the air.

Natalie, however, was rubbing her temples.  “Ugh, it’s like having a headcold. Do people actually live in this?”

“I can see about six,” Saskia replied, “ heavily armed and coming this way.”

Indeed, they had been spotted by a patrol.  With a yelp of surprise, Natalie scrambled to cloak the trio in invisibility while Saskia pulled the pin on a smoke grenade and tossed it at the guards.

“Everyone jump!” she cried, and launched herself up and over the wall and adjacent waterfall.

More cliff-diving.    _Fantastic_.  Nevertheless, Horace joined them, bracing himself for the inevitable collision with the canals at the bottom.  Yet it never came.

Horace opened his eyes to see that, rather than falling, they were floating, and the water was still a considerable distance away.  Glancing over, he could see Natalie deep in concentration as she powered the spell. The invisibility was fading, however, meaning that they would need to find shelter fast.

When they finally did land, it was in an alleyway.  Out of view, they would have time to conceive a plan.

Natalie took a long drink from her canteen and wiped the sweat from her brow, gusting out a breath.  “In a few minutes, I should be able to scry directions to the fluctuation.”

“I have another idea,” Saskia said.  From one of her satchels, she procured a hefty sack of gold pieces.

Horace’s eyes went very, very wide.  “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“Oh, these are fake.  I’ll offer them to a guard, and hand him a real one to bite so he’ll think  _all_ of them are real,” she explained.  “Then we can take his map and have the libraries marked out.”

“That’s… not a bad idea,” Natalie conceded.  “Saves me a heck of a lot of mana.”

“Give me five minutes.”

Natalie took the chance to sit on a barrel and catch her breath.  Meanwhile, Horace peaked around the corner, curious to witness Saskia’s methods in action.  She sauntered towards a nearby guard, not even flinching as he charged at her with his polearm positioned to skewer.  She stood still, weight shifting to one hip, and held up the sack. Confused, the guard skidded to a halt.

“The hell do you want, outsider?” the guard sneered, accent thick but still intelligible.  He lowered his weapon, though, so he was at least interested.

“Oh, just a few pointers,” Saskia drawled.  “Got a map?”

Just as she had described, she offered the real coin as a tester.  The elf, seeming pleased with the dents his teeth made, offered her his.

“Okay, excellent, now point out where the libraries are, and you’ll get the rest.”

He suddenly grew wary, leering down his nose at the petite human.  “Why should I?”

“I bet your queen doesn’t let you unionize.  You could probably use a little extra income now and again, with wages the way the are.”  She held the bag closer to his face, jingling the coins inside

From the alleyway, Horace heard Natalie groan, “Oh, please tell me she’s not still going on about that communist shit.”

“It’s democratic socialism!” Saskia called over her shoulder.

The guard squinted to see anyone in the shadows.  Horace ducked out of view just in time. “Who’s back there?” he growled.

“Your mom,” the rogue retorted.  “Now, do we have a deal?”

Humming uncertainly, he thought for a moment.  Finally, he waved his hand, and several red dots appeared on the parchment.  “Your best bet is the Terrace of Enlightenment, towards the center, just under the bridge.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”  Saskia handed over the pyrite with a grin.  “Oh, and, for the record, if you squeal, you are such a dead man.”

She slipped back into the alleyway before the guard could react.  “That was surprisingly easy,” she chirped. “Usually I have to beat them over the head and loot their bodies.”

Natalie took the goods from her.  “Looks like the Terrace of Enlightenment was where the fluctuations were coming from.  I’ll bet it’s also swarming with guards.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Horace assured her.

The trio traversed the city with the utmost caution.  The map was, thankfully, not a dud, as about half an hour of sneaking had them at the Terrace.  Jubilant stars lit up Natalie’s eyes as she beheld what amounted to an open-air university from inside a thicket of manicured shrubbery.

“It’s like the Kirin Tor… but covered in glitter,” she breathed.  “Screw the arcane headache, I wanna stay here forever!”

Horace found himself giggling at her enthusiasm.  He stopped abruptly when a few elves turned towards their bush.  They all crouched, stock-still, waiting. Eventually, the elves looked away, and he exhaled in relief.

“We need a distraction,” Natalie whispered.

In response, Saskia pulled out another smoke bomb.

More than a few surprised cries could be heard as the first bomb exploded in the faces of several guards.  The remainder flocked to investigate the disturbance, giving the trespassers an opportunity to slip into one of the magically-enclosed tents unnoticed.  Once inside, a kick from one of Saskia’s steel-toed boots quickly silenced a startled scholar. She crumpled in an unconscious heap on the floor.

Horace and Saskia stood guard at either entrance, knowing that the smokey distraction would not last long.  Meanwhile, Natalie slung a tiny handbag off her shoulder and snapped open the clasp. Then she began dumping the contents of the shelf in front of her in their entirety into it.  Wide-eyed amazement overtook the other two as she ended up emptying every single book and magical device into her little handbag. Horace found himself torn between wanting to know how it worked and knowing that it would be far too complicated for him to parce together.

He glanced over to Saskia, who gave him a hopeless shrug.  “Magic.”

Turning back to glance outside the tent, he saw that civilians had returned to their activities, but the guards were on high alert.  “I think we should wrap it up soon, Nat.”

“  _Al_ most done,” she assured him.  Indeed, the entire space was stripped bare.

It took all of his willpower to not anxiously tap his foot, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he kept peeking out of the structure to see a single guard moving closer and closer to where they were.  “  _Nat_ ,” he hissed.

“Just a few more things!” she insisted.  After what seemed like an eternity, she closed the handbag and slung its long leather strap over her shoulder, freeing her hands up to begin casting a teleportation spell.

Too late.  The guard shouted, and Horace did the first thing that came to mind: he punched them square in the face.  They recoiled, clutching at their nose. Just as he began to hear the clanking of armored footsteps headed their way, Natalie finished her spell, and they were off.

 

That night, Horace had the unfortunate chance of opening the tent flap after returning from the bushes and discovering Natalie and Saskia underneath an unfolded bedroll, almost nude.  He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and announced that he would be going for a walk.

It wasn’t long before he found a rocky outcropping overlooking Suramar City.  It was as good a spot as any to sit, so he settled down and pulled out the stationary box.  The paper he had been given was quality stuff, thick and smooth without any annoying bumps that made the ink smudge.  He placed the well on a flat part of the rock and began to write, using the bright light of the moon to see.

 

_To King Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind,_

_Suramar’s unlike any place I’ve ever seen before.  If the people here hadn’t already pledged themselves to the Legion, I’d say the Alliance could form an allegiance with them.  There’s a sizeable military presence in the city, and lots of books that Natalie’s going wild over. I haven’t seen anything of real use to the Alliance yet, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Horace Lin_

 

A rustling in the bushes nearby had him on his feet with sword and shield ready in moments.  He waited, silent, for the whispering figures hiding within to appear. When they did, he immediately dropped his guard.

They were thin and shaking uncontrollably, with wide, dull eyes and sallow skin.  Yet, underneath all the bodily trauma, they were the same race of elves as those residing in the city.  Horace set down his weapons and put his hands up in a gesture of peace, hoping that they wouldn’t just up and run away.

“D-do you have any wine?” one of them asked.

He had to take a moment to let that sink in.    _Wine?_  Were they just a couple of alcoholics?  “No… sorry. Are you okay?”

“We need more arcwine,” the other rasped.  “Please, don’t let us wither.”

He knew jack squat about addiction, but he knew that these people were suffering.  “I have water, will that work?”

They stared at him helplessly.  He shrugged.

The three were interrupted by an elven soldier shouting for them to halt.  “Do not let them leave the city!” she commanded as four more soldiers surged forward.

Horace snagged his weaponry just in time to parry the first attacker’s scimitar, dispatching them with a shield bash and a downward arc of his gladius.  Fighting with his titan-forged blade was leaps and bounds better than when he’d just had his standard-issue squire’s shortsword. It glided through the air, perfectly balanced, and cut through his opponents as if they wore no armor at all.  His shield also received some strange looks from the soldiers, just as he had predicted. Excellent.

Before long, the leader of the soldiers met him in combat herself, her hook swords twirling about with deadly accuracy.  Horace found himself outmatched and losing ground, but he moved to place himself in between the captain and the boozies.

A blast of arcane energy smashed into the back of her head.  Horace screamed and staggered backward, horrified. A few strands of his hair shriveled up and burned from the residual flames.  Meanwhile, Natalie jogged up, hair disheveled and robe hastily cinched up.

“See, Saskia, I told you it’d be a good idea to check on him!” she called.  Behind her, the grumpy rogue walked up, peeved at the interruption of their makeout session.  Horace stuck his tongue out at her.

“Oh, dear…”  Natalie extended a hand to the fallen elf, helping them to their feet.  “You’re withering, aren’t you?”

They nodded, tears welling up in their eyes.  “The Magistrix stopped sending rations to the homeless.”

“Don’t you worry, there’s shelter not far from here, maybe a few miles.  We can escort you there, if you want.”

“Please,” they whispered.

Natalie looped their arm around her shoulders for support.  They leaned on her heavily, exhausted. Horace took her cue and helped the other elf after packing up his stationary.  Meanwhile, Saskia had vanished into the shadows.

It was slow going, with the elves having to stop and catch their breath every few minutes or so.  Saskia proved much faster, leaving a trail of lone scouts for them to follow. They had forgone lanterns to keep unwanted attention at bay, making Horace wish that they had waited for daylight so he would stop tripping over roots and sliding in mud puddles.

Finally, Natalie signaled for the group to stop.  “I don’t think we’ll be welcome in there,” she told the elves.  “Can you make it to the cave on your own?”

The one Horace was supporting tried a few tentative steps by themself, wringing their hands and nodding.  “Yes, yes. A thousand thank yous.  _An’rath’a a’dore_.”

“  _An’rath’a a’dore_ ,” Natalie replied.

Saskia joined the two as they watched the elves make their way across a clearing in the forest.  The ruins of a building and cobblestone roads shone milky grey in the starlight, and, surprisingly, a hippogryph lay just opposite of it, snoozing away amongst some potted flowers.  Past both of those was a small cave from which another frail elven head poked out. They beckoned the two refugees in, pausing once they were inside to incline their head at the group of humans.  Natalie raised her hand, and they disappeared into the hillside.

On the walk back to camp, Natalie remarked, “Lady Proudmoore warned me about this.”

“Yeah, what was the deal with those elves?” Saskia asked.  The Dreadblades hummed dimly at her sides, sated by those unfortunate enough to cross her path.

“Nightborne,” Natalie explained.  “The elves of Suramar. They have the Nightwell, which is like the Sunwell but the opposite, and when it’s gone, people who are reliant on it have horrible withdrawals.  The blood elves of Silvermoon dealt with the same issues, only their rulers didn’t willingly leave people to die in the streets from their addiction--I think. According to Kirin Tor intel, Grand Magistrix Elisande manufactures this ‘arcwine,’ to sate their cravings.  Only the rich and well-connected get enough to survive, however.”

Horace folded his arms across his chest.  “I take it those people were not upper class.”

“No.  Elisande is a tyrant.  Many people have tried to bring her down; all of them failed.  Hopefully this new rebellion will prove successful.”

“And where we took them?  That was the rebel base?” he assumed.

“Correct.  Both the Alliance and Horde, as well as the Kirin Tor, have been supplying them with aid.  There’s talk of eventually laying siege to the city itself, and finding Elisande’s successor.”

Their camp was still intact by the time they returned, a little past dawn.  Horace pressed the heels of his hands into his sore eyes and yawned, very ready to catch up on some sleep.  But before he could, he had to finish his letter. Once he did, Natalie snapped her fingers, and it vanished with a pop.

“Hope we can find something that’ll be of use to the Alliance,” he mumbled as he curled up in his bedroll.

An incredulous Natalie and Saskia were about to remind him that there were about fifty different people already doing that exact same thing, it wasn’t like Anduin needed fifty-one, but he was already sound asleep.  Shrugging, the two rearranged their own bedrolls and pressed close, letting sleep drag them down as the sun slowly rose higher in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if a single mote of heterosexuality gets within ten feet of anduin in before the storm or battle for azeroth blizzard entertainment has to pay every gay player sixty bucks
> 
> at some point i'm going to put up official art of the gang


	16. How to Crime

Natalie was, if nothing else, immensely intelligent.  She worked her ass off for every scrap of talent and knowledge she possessed, and it showed in each spell or bit of trivia she would rattle off as the trio continued hitting new libraries that week.  Yet, for all her power, she lacked stamina. 

It was at the fourth stop that trouble finally caught them unprepared.  Their thievery set the city guard on high alert, stationing extra people near the Terrace of Enlightenment to safeguard their prized librams.  Determined to not leave without what she had came for, Natalie whipped out her wand and traced a rune in the air, then smacked it with the palm of her hand.  Almost immediately, a vortex of radiant blue energy enveloped the turret, drawing into it every tome and artifact in sight.

Horace and Saskia stared at her, awestruck.  An arrow singing between them brought their attention back to the guards, who were just barely being held back by the winds the spell produced.  When the spell ended, the two charged.

A shield bash knocked a spear-toting guard’s weapon out of her hands, leaving her open to a kick to the stomach.  She doubled over with a grunt, and he hit her head with the butt of his sword. It was in that moment that Saskia flew down from the rafters, landing on top of one guards and throwing a mean right hook to another.  Horace smacked the last one with the flat of his blade, and finished him off with a jab to the nose.

It gave him a peace of mind that they never actually  _ killed _ any of the soldiers, only incapacitated them.  Even though these same people would have no problem chopping his head off.  He would simply have to make the sacrifice of being the bigger person.

“More guards are probably on their way,” Saskia warned from the doorway.

Natalie finished off her water skein and stashed it back in her satchel.  “I can teleport us a short distance away, but that’s it.” Closing the clasp on her magic bag, she added, “Please catch me if I pass out.”

Before either paladin or rogue could protest, Natalie waved her hands and cast a spell of teleportation.  Horace opened his eyes again just in time to see her stagger forward, reaching out to steady her as she descended to the floor.  She leaned against the wall and tilted her head back, breathing heavily.

A few feet away, Saskia was poking around.  “This place seems safe enough. Let’s take a break and let Nat sleep for a bit.”

They had ended up in a tower room adjacent to a house.  Looking out the vast bay windows, Horace could see an open-air bazaar below, but it was oddly silent.  Maybe elves didn’t appreciate vendors hawking their wares as loudly and obnoxiously as possible. He shrugged to himself and turned his attention back to his friend.

“This  _ sucks _ ,” Natalie panted.  “I know these spells inside and out… why can’t I handle them yet?”

Horace offered her more water, but she shook her head.  He scoot aside as Saskia walked over, arms laden with pillows and throw blankets, which she arranged around Natalie.  Smiling her thanks, the mage keeled over onto a particularly fluffy stack. In mere moments, she was out.

Saskia lounged in her own little nest, staring out at the city.  Dark clouds gathering on the horizon promised rain some time before nightfall.  “I have no idea if our tent is water-proofed,” she mumbled.

He shrugged when she glanced to him imploringly.  “It’d be kinda nice to just stay here for the rest of the trip.”  He certainly was comfortable, and much warmer.

“Until the homeowners find out they have some new tenants, anyways.”

“That’s true,” he acquiesced.  In all honesty, he would rather have to burn that bridge when they got to it.  Natalie wasn’t the only one who needed a nap right about now. The opulence of city life, with its down pillows and silken sheets in much higher quantity than any farmer would have access to--or squire, for that matter--was something he could grow accustomed to.  Stormwind’s paladin quartermaster delegated one itchy wool blanket and one straw-stuffed pillow per bunk. If you were freezing, too bad. That man could have had a gun to his head and never made an exception to the rule.

Looking back, Horace found himself wistful for all the company, all the rules and superiors and training.  It stung less than it used to, however. His life now was more fantastic than he had ever expected. He had taken on god-like beings and worked alongside good people he had grown up being told were the “bad guys.”  Even if it irked him, he had to admit, getting booted from the paladin order was the best thing that could have happened to him.

The rain came in much faster than anticipated.  When Natalie woke back up, it was coming down in sheets while thunder boomed overhead.  After molding her hair back into her desired shape, she sat cross-legged on the floor and munched on some of the rations in her stash.

“We should see if this storm lets up soon,” she suggested.  “I’m not all that thrilled about tromping around an unfamiliar city in the pouring rain.”

The storm did not, in face, let up soon, and Saskia was the only one with a weather-treated cloak.  They skirted the edge of the bazaar, taking care to remain underneath shadowy overhangs. Soaked clothes would only slow them down, a hinderance they could not afford.

Out of the corner of his eye, Horace noticed someone doubled over in the alleyway.  Her shaking, emaciated frame was akin to those of the Nightborne they had escorted last night.  She slumped against the wall and sank to the ground, face contorted in a grimace of pain. Wordlessly, he broke away from the other two and picked his way through the puddles and garbage towards her, ignoring Saskia hissing for him to return to her side.

She gasped in fear as he knelt in front of her, attempting to wriggle closer away.  “N-no,” she gasped.

“Hey!  You stay away!”

Horace turned his head to regard the squeaky voice belonging to a pole-brandishing Nightborne child charging towards him.  She couldn’t have been more than seven, thin as a rail with big, round eyes. A pang of pity coursed through his chest.

“Don’t worry; I can help your sister,” he insisted.

“Brother,” the child snapped.

His eyebrows shot up.  When he looked back at the other Nightborne, his face softened.  “Me too.”

He looked surprised, yet hopeful.

“Oh, Light, you need mana, don’t you?”  Natalie approached the two Nightborne, hand over her heart.

“Can’t you just, like, cast a spell on him?” Horace asked.

She shook her head.  “It’s not that simple.  We need to find some arcwine if he’s going to have any chance of survival.”

Saskia, who had hid herself in the shadows well enough that Horace hadn’t even noticed she was there, mused, “I always enjoyed reading about Sparrow Cap and his merry band of thieves.  Should be fun to recreate them.”

“Sparrow Cap?” the Nightborne child asked.

“Urban legend.  He stole from the rich to provide for the poor.”  Her teeth glinted in the low light as she grinned.  “Let’s go.”

Horace put a hand on the Nightborne’s shoulder.  “Wait here; we’ll be back as soon as we can.”

He nodded, extending an arm so his sister could join him in his hiding spot.  The siblings huddled together, like fawns in the grass.

“We should split up, grab what we can, meet back here in ten minutes tops.”  Saskia handed a smoke bomb to each of them in case they needed to get away.

Horace went west, cringing every time his plate mail armor clanked or clinked with each step he took.  No matter what he did, it seemed, as a tank, he would always be loud.

“You there!  Stop!”

A quick fist to the face resolved that issue.  Heart pounding out of his chest for fear of being heard, he glanced around the corner.  People weren’t even looking in his direction; it was as if nothing had happened. Were the Nightborne so used to violence that they didn’t even blink when it happened?  The thought sent a pang of pity through his chest, followed by a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe these guards deserved more than a right hook.

No, he wasn’t here to raise hell, he was here to help.  He kept his helm off so as not to restrict his range of vision, scanning the marketplace for anything that looked similar to a wine bottle.  It was around that time that he realized he didn’t know how arcwine was stored.

His first thought was to check the barrels stacked up against the side of a building just south of where he stood.  If only he could get rid of the guards without inciting panic amongst the civilians. They were heavily armored and shoving away people asking them for arcwine.  To boot, there were three more patrolling his general area at a brisk pace, and one of them looked to be a spellcaster.

The instant the three had their backs to him, he dashed across the marketplace, helm grasped by one of its curved horns.  The arcwine guards saw him and drew their weapons, but he was able to use the helm to bash him across the face, sending him staggering away.  His counterpart brought her sword down at Horace’s head, barely giving him any time to raise his shield and block her attack. While she was preoccupied with the follow-through of the move, he sent his foot into her rib cage.  She let out a cry of pain that had Horace hearing shouts to cease and desist mere seconds later.

The spellcaster’s arcane fireball caught him completely off guard.  It hit him in the back with enough force to make him immediately face-plant on the cobblestone, and suddenly he wished he was wearing his helm.  His cheek would be a nice, shiny violet by tomorrow.

Yet, when he regained his footing, a dagger was causing blood to gush from the spellcaster’s throat.  The two guards flanking them balked, giving Horace an opportunity to dive in and swiftly, non-lethally dispatch them.  He stared back at the ones he had previously fought and found them still lying prone, groaning over their injuries.

The civilians in the marketplace regarded him with wide-eyed terror, giving him plenty of space for fear of being attacked themselves.  Rather than trying to make himself seem less dangerous, he grabbed several small casks of arcwine.

“The rest is yours,” he assured them.  “Go nuts!”

It took until he had already walked away before the entire area descended upon the supply cache, relishing in the life-sustaining liquid.  He heard relieved laughter intermingled with desperation and knew that he had achieved a victory, even if it was small.

He was the last to return to the alleyway, setting down the arcwine and rolling his shoulders.  The brunt of the spell had been absorbed by his fancy titan-forged armor, but it had still hurt; combined with his truly epic battle with the ground, he was quite sore.

“Thank you so much,” the older Nightborne breathed, a cup of the sparkling red drink in his hands.  “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Survive,” Horace told him, before anyone else could chime in.  Both Saskia and Natalie nodded.

He inclined his head in understanding.

“By the way, Saskia, thanks for the help back there,” he said.

The rogue quirked a brow.  “I was in the opposite direction.”

Uh oh?  Maybe his mysterious benefactor was aiming for  _ him _ .  He certainly hoped not.  “Huh, must’ve been someone from the rebellion.”

“Oh, the Dusk Lily!” the younger Nightborne exclaimed.  “They’re gonna stop all the bad guys and make Elisande pay for her crimes!”

“Not so loud!” his brother hissed, peering down each end of the alleyway with a wary grimace.

“Sounds like our kinda people,” Saskia remarked.

The younger Nightborne nodded vigorously.  “They’re gonna help everyone!”

The arcwine had restored a healthy pallor to the older Nightborne’s face from even a few sips.  Once he had drained more of the bottle Natalie had given him, the shine returned to his eyes, and his brother was much more energetic.  He extended a hand to the three of them. “My name is Lorn, by the way. The menace at my side is Davian.” He laughed at the indignant squawk over the last part.

“My name’s Horace,” he replied, shaking his hand.  “This is Natalie, and Saskia.”

“Horace, you said you’re like me, correct?”  When he received an affirmative nod, he said, “I may not have any money or fancy goods to repay you all with, but I do have some information, if you’re interested.”

He tilted his head to the side.  “What do you mean?”

“For those who have the monetary means, there is a mage who can perform augmentative magics on people like us,” Lorn explained.

Natalie gasped.  “Oh, I had hoped to find more material on the subject!  I’ve been researching transition magic for months. Where can we find her; I’d love to chat.”

Lorn frowned, shaking his head.  “She doesn’t give away her secrets, or else I wouldn’t sound or look like this.  It’s for the rich and powerful alone. I had assumed from your unique armors that you might.”

“We’ve been spending the past week stealing from the rich and powerful,” Saskia quipped.

His brow furrowed.  “People have tried to make her services more accessible; if the wards in her house didn’t kill them, withering in prison for treason did.  She has the favor of the Grand Magistrix.”

Natalie hummed thoughtfully.  “My training on disarmament isn’t very thorough…” she mused.  “Although, if we can find a weak spot in her defenses, I may be able to create some wiggle room.”

“No offense, but if you make it out of Kay’s mansion with her grimoire  _ alive _ , I’ll eat my shirt.”

It was a long shot, but Horace saw it as worthwhile to try.  He trusted Natalie to use this Kay’s magic much more wisely than its developer.  “We’ve attempted worse,” he told Lorn.

Though he still appeared reluctant, there was obviously a part of Lorn that wanted them to succeed, too.  “Well, if you’re truly bent on trying, I’ll point you in the right direction.”

Which was how they ended up dangerously close to the vast, sky-scraping palace of Grand Magistrix Elisande in the dead of night, waiting for Saskia to finish scouting for demons.  Horace had his sword and shield at the ready, guarding Natalie as she reached out to the arcane barriers and boody traps enveloping the main mansion with her mind’s eye, gently feeling around for a weak spot.  The one guard so far that had crossed their path was currently unconscious in a bush. Despite the size of Kay’s mansion, he had yet to see any servants up and about. It was one in the morning, however, so they were hopefully asleep.

“ _ Ah _ , there you are.”

Horace peered over his shoulder at Natalie.  With her eyes still closed, she was maneuvering her hands in a way that suggested parting a curtain.  “Just a tiny piece of loose thread your seamstress forgot to tie off.”

“Can you get us inside?” he whispered.

“In a few.  Saskia, are you there?” she asked, eyes still shut.

“Right here,” the rogue murmured, and Horace nearly leaped out of his skin.  The bright blues of her armor were as invisible as the rest of her, the only indication of her presence a tiny glint in the whites of her eyes.  “The guard shack’s about twenty yards from where we are. They’re all drinking, so they probably won’t hear any noise we make as long as it’s soft.”

“Good.  I’m almost done.”

Horace didn’t even realize he had been holding his breath until Natalie finally stood and dusted off her robes.

“Follow exactly in my footsteps,” she warned the other two.  “I only managed to clear a small path.”

He did as he was told out of fear of getting vaporized.  The side door was locked, but that was solved with kit from one of Saskia’s many pockets.  Judging from the unsteady thread lines, she herself had sewn them in to her gift from the gods at some point.  The inside was just as lavish as the outside, decked out in the most expensive hardwoods. Despite the vaulted ceilings stretching up well over twenty feet, the place was immaculate.  Every smooth stone surface, every bit of filigree, was spotless, not a speck of dust or smudge of dirt. Either the people here were paid very well--which he doubted--or driven very hard.

Natalie’s slippers padded softly across the floor as she crept towards the stairs, holding up the hem of her robe in one hand so it wouldn’t drag.  Horace watched her for a moment as she scried for the grimoire’s location, but became distracted by a shining piece of metal hanging from a nearby table.  He knelt down, scooting underneath so that he could get a better look. His finger felt a keyhole after running down the length of the wood grain after a moment.

He signalled for Saskia, pointing out the oddity to her.

“Piece of cake,” she told him.  “Let’s see what’s in this bad boy.”

In a scant ten seconds, she popped the lock and lowered the hatch slowly, letting a small purse fall into her her hand.  After fiddling it open, she said, “Poison. Weird place to hide it.”

There was someone upstairs he could hear moving about, most likely the owner of this mansion Lorn had spoken of: Kay.  None of her servants were up at this hour, or, if they were, they didn’t care enough to stop the intruders.

Suddenly, he could hear the clicking of Kay’s heels moving towards the stairs.  “Nat!” he hissed, but she was already tip-toeing towards him.

“Going somewhere?”

Horace smacked his head against the underside of the table trying to stand.  He yelped in shock and pain, finally getting to his feet and readying his sword and shield.

His own preconceptions of what he thought she would look like went out the window the instant he beheld the tall, lavishly-garbed woman before him.  She was downright voluptuous underneath her white fur cape and silken dress, but the soft angles held a hardened malice that made all her supposed beauty fade away.  If Lorns’ tale was true, her magical knowledge was nigh unrivalled, and that made her valuable. And she looked as if she was well aware of that fact.

“Ugh, you’re both outsiders, aren’t you?  Filthy! It’ll take my servants weeks to get rid of your lowborn  _ stench _ .”  She wrinkled her tiny, upturned nose and sneered down at him and Natalie.

Horace saw the dull red glow of the Dreadblades in the rafters above moments before Saskia dropped down on top of the Magistrix.  She shrieked, uttering a spell that sent a ring of fire sweeping outward as she toppled. With a gasp, Natalie began to channel, summoning a water elemental who quickly put out the flames before they could take hold in the woodwork.  The guardian looked back at its master, awaiting further instruction.

“You’ll never take my secrets!” Kay roared, just as she ordered her elemental after the mage.

It washed over to where Kay and Saskia were tustling on the ground, each trying to pin the other down.  Horace watched in amazement as it swirled around once, then collapsed into a sentient puddle on top of the two and tried to drown them.  He then rushed over as the elemental was recalled, pulling out a length of rope from his pack. He bound Kay’s hands behind her back while she was still gasping for air.

“Yeah, uh, we’re taking your book,” Natalie informed her.  “Our sincerest apologies.”

Horace stuffed a gag in her mouth and tied her ankles before she could do any more damage.  When he stood, he extended a hand to Saskia, who was soaked and spluttering, and helped her do the same.  “You look like a wet cat,” he laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled.

In between her giggles, Natalie uttered a spell, and Saskia dried out with a poof that fluffed out her ginger hair to twice its usual volume.  “Sorry,” she said, although it didn’t sound immensely ernest.

Kay remained on the floor, wriggling fruitlessly with hatred blazing in her eyes as the trio hurried up the stairs.  The only door left open led to what appeared to be a laboratory. By the reverence with which Natalie regarded the sealed tome on the middle table, he assumed that that was the grimoire.

She let out a sigh, her shoulders falling slightly as she held the book.  “I cannot wait to gain the knowledge in your pages,” she whispered. Eyes sparkling, she looked back up to her companions.  “We should find her reagents. We should strip this place bare.”

Shrugging, Saskia chimed, “You’re the boss.”

As Horace was quick to discover, reagents were fickle things, and did not like being manhandled.  When a second vial exploded in his hands, he decided to just sit on a swivel chair and spin around until they were finished.

“Call me crazy,” he mused, kicking off the floor again, “but it seems bizarre that people can live carefree in such opulence while people starve and die on their doorsteps.”

“She’ll have considerably less wealth without her spells and ingredients,” Natalie replied.  She uncorked a bottle of something glittery and pink, sniffed it, then turned away to let out a powerful sneeze.  “Oh yeah, this one’s a keeper.”

*

Lorn and Davian perked up the instant the trio returned to their alleyway.  They had managed to sneak some food from a nearby vendor in the chaotic aftermath of the arcwine being liberated by Horace, and were wolfing it down when the trio sat next to them.

“You did it!” Lorn cried, ears flipping up and forward.

Natalie pried open the leather-bound cover, conjuring a small arcane light in her hand to illuminate the swirling manuscript.  “I can’t read your language. Can you translate for me?” she asked him.

The Nightborne nodded eagerly, taking the book into his lap.  “Anything in particular you want to find?”

“Vocal augmentation.”

Lorn began to flip through pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.  “Aha!” he said after a few moments. “Okay, let me see what you need… powdered Star Lily?”

Natalie fished through her bottomless bag.  “Got it!”

“Um, okay, you’re going to need three and a half milligrams of that.  And seven milliliters of Frostweed Oil.”

“Check.”

“A Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Check.”

“And lastly, it says half a milligram of Finely-Ground Leylight Dust, and one Greater Magic Essence.”

“Double check.”  Natalie laid out all the ingredients on top of one of the arcwine barrels she had covered with a clean cloth.  “Any notes on combining these?”

Lorn shook his head.  “It just says thoroughly mix, say a short incantation for pitch, and imbibe.”

“Oh, this is not going to go down easy,” Natalie muttered.  Once she had everything ready to go, it had the consistency of wet sand.  Grimacing, she took her necklace off, then scooped the mixture up with a balsom stick and slid it into her mouth.

Horace felt the urge to slap her on the back or do the heimlich as she squeezed her eyes shut and take several attempts to swallow, tears welling up as she did her best to suppress a fit of coughing.  Her nostrils flared while she took deep, controlled breaths. After an extended pause, she swallowed one last time, wiped her eyes, and remarked, “This’d better work.”

It took her a hot second to realize that her voice had not changed from its norm.  Her face lit up and she exclaimed, “It worked! It worked!” She had one hand at the base of her throat and one grabbing a fistful of her afro, laughing in pure, unadulterated joy.  “It  _ worked _ !”

Her hands shaking from excitement, Natalie managed to whip up two more doses.  She handed one to Lorn, and the other to Horace, who could hardly to try it for themselves.  Indeed, it was absolutely awful to swallow, and Horace found himself gagging out of instinct.  He forced it down, however, refusing to let such an opportunity slip out of his grasp, and when he spoke, it was as if his augment necklace were still bound tight to his neck.

Despite himself, Horace felt his eyes mist over; he breathed deep and sniffled, trying to blink the tears away.  This was permanent, was  _ his real voice _ , and Light help it, he couldn’t have been happier. He flung his arms around Natalie and pulled her close, pressing a kiss of gratitude to her temple.  “Dammit, Nat, you’re the best!”

She returned the embrace with a jubilant laugh, bringing Lorn and his brother, then Saskia towards her.

“You did it, babe,” the rogue said.  “You’re gonna be the next Guardian of Tirisfal before we know it.”

Natalie took Saskia’s face in her hands and kissed her lips.  “And you’ll be right by my side.”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ended up being a lot longer than i thought it would be but now their adventures in suramar are pretty much wrapped up and we're getting closer and closer to handuin being canon king.


	17. Nice Night for an Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first daaaaaaate!!!

They had packed up their campsite while watching the Kirin Tor march into the Grand Promenade.  If Lady Proudmoore hadn’t specifically forbidden getting involved, the trio would have done more than observe and draw up a report, but as it was, their daring romp through Suramar City had provided enough adventure for a while.  It was time to head home with their cargo in tow, a somewhat anticlimactic end to a chaotic year.

Natalie opened up a small portal to Stormwind for Horace and Saskia, as she was bound for Kul’tiras first.  When the dust finally settled, they were in the Mage Tower. After going down the long, winding, and oft-treacherous staircase, Horace drank in the fresh sea air and remarked how good it was to be back.

Saskia begged to differ.  “It’s too  _ hot _ ,” she groaned.

“It can’t be more than eighty degrees,” Horace insisted.

“ _ Too hot _ ,” she repeated.

He blew a raspberry.  When he had walked all the way to the other side of Stormwind in full plate, however, he caved and admitted that it might be a little warm.

“Does thinking of Anduin make you warm?” she asked slyly.

“Shut up!” he squawked, but she only cackled.

“You should ask him out.  He’s too shy and stupid to do it himself.”

Horace shook his head.  “Saskia, he’s so far out of my league.”

 

“Natalie, he’s so far out of my league.”

The mage’s eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets.  “What, do you expect someone to ask him for you?”

Chin resting on the desk with arms splayed out in front of him, Anduin looked up at her like a sad puppy.  “No…”

“You miss one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take,” she pointed out, sitting opposite him with a mug of coffee in hand.

“Yes, but--”

He was interrupted by Saskia entering the room and loudly announcing their return.  “Nat, you’re back early.”

“Lady Jaina just needed to check in with me for a moment,” she explained.

Anduin had bolted upright within a millisecond of the office door swinging open, straightening his coat and hair so it wasn’t as apparent he had been slouching.  He met Horace’s eyes with a smile, heart fluttering when the paladin returned it.

“Today’s Friday, right?” Saskia asked.

“Oh, it’s date night, isn’t it?  You pick this time,” she said. “I forgot.”

She tapped her chin pensively.  “Blue Recluse poetry reading?”

“Perfect!”  Natalie clasped her hands together.  “It’s a date.”

Saskia nodded eagerly.  “Asking you out is easy as pie, Nat.”

“And it’s so much fun!” she replied without missing a beat.

Wrapping an arm around her, Saskia suggested, “We should talk about this somewhere else in case we inspired something.”

“I hate you both,” Horace hissed through clenched teeth as they sauntered out.  Natalie blew him a kiss.

As the door shut, the boys could hear Saskia ask, “So, are we actually going out tonight, or--”

“Yes,” Natalie assured her.

Dammit dammit dammit.  Horace had zero idea what to say.

“So.  Uh…” Anduin began.  “It’s warm.”

Oh, bless his heart he was adorable.  “Yes,” he agreed.

Another pause.  “How was Suramar?”

“Very purple,” he replied, and immediately realized that that was the dumbest thing he could have said.

To his surprise, Anduin let out a small laugh.  “You should see Darnassus.”

The mood instantly lightened.  “There wasn’t anything of use to the Alliance that I found, unfortunately,” he informed him, suddenly remembering his assignment.

“Huh?  Oh, right!  That. Yes, ah, don’t worry; it wasn’t critical.”

Saskia and Natalie’s words about Anduin having an ulterior motive floated into his forethoughts.

“If, um…”  Anduin cleared his throat.  “If you would like to talk about it, though…”  He was fidgeting with his hands and very visibly red in the face.  “Maybe we could meet at six tonight in the library for dinner? O-only if you want to, of course.  Do you want to?”

Horace’s brain had long since stopped working, but he managed to nod once and say, “Yes.  I will be there.”

“Wonderful!”  Anduin’s face lit up in relief.

He pointed towards the door.  “I will ready.”

 

“Hello stupid, meet stupid!”  Horace smacked his forehead and fell back on the bed.

“Dude, don’t even sweat it.  I was so nervous when I went out with Natalie for the first time.”  Saskia was sitting backwards on her desk chair, resting her cheek on a fist.

“Yeah, but you’re so cool under pressure.  I’m useless,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t get half of what she was saying because I was too busy thinking about how pretty her eyes were.”

He lifted his head to regard her.  “Saskia, that is so fucking cute.”

“Got a kiss out of it, eventually,” she replied with a wolfish grin.  “But back to you. Do you have anything to wear?”

He bolted upright.  “Crap!”

Patting the air placatingly, she said, “Don’t worry, I’m positive we can find you something.  In fact, I already did.”

From the small chifferobe, Saskia pulled out a shirt, pants, belt, and boots.  “Pieced together some extra livery from the quartermaster’s storeroom.”

Horace held the finely-woven navy tunic with a small degree of awe.  “You need to stop giving me nice things; I’ll never be able to pay you back.”

“You’re taking my sad, shy adoptive brother on a date,” she replied frankly.  “That’s repayment enough. Besides, I like helping my friends.”

With a smirk that was just a little cheeky, he told her, “I’ll be sure to give him a good time.”

“Easy, tiger,” she retorted good-naturedly.

Once he was out of his armor and cleaned up, Saskia mussed his hair to peak fluffiness, giving him a breath mint and a light spritz of pine cologne.  He made sure to tuck in his shirt, triple-checking that he had put on enough deodorant and his breath smelled clean. Anxiety made his heart flutter like a rabbit’s as he and Saskia agreed that he was ready about fifteen minutes to six.

“Just remember: you took down four gods in a month,” Saskia said, holding his shoulders and staring him dead in the eye.  “You are an unstoppable gay powerhouse.”

He nodded, not quite believing her but grateful for the confidence boost.

“You’ve got this.”

“I’ve got this.”

She clapped his arm.  “Go get ‘em.”

Right as the bell tower could be heard ringing six in the distance, Horace was adjusting his cuffs for the hundredth time right outside the keep’s library.  “I am an unstoppable gay powerhouse,” he muttered under his breath, quirking the eyebrow of a nearby guard. That alone almost had him bolting for the door, but he stood his ground and politely inclined his head.

Anduin was in the back corner, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the two untouched meals with anxious intensity.  The moment Horace walked up, however, he stood and called his name in greeting.

“I-it’s good to see you,” Horace said after they both sat.  For the most part, the building had cleared out, with only one librarian left to shelve returned books.  The privacy was nice, but he hoped that Anduin hadn’t gone through too much trouble for him.

Neither touched their food, nerves already filling their stomachs.

“Did, um, you see the forces invading Suramar?” Anduin asked.

“Not much.  We didn’t want to accidentally get caught up in the conflict.”  Horace kept his hands in his lap, unsure of where else to put them.

“I don’t blame you,” Anduin said.  “From what I’ve been told, Elisande and her army are ruthless.”

Scratching his temple sheepishly, he admitted, “We had quite a few squabbles with the law.  They don’t like outsiders in their schools.”

“Hopefully it’ll be different soon.”

Horace spent the ensuing ten seconds scrambling to find something, anything to say.

“How is the paladin order?”

Okay, maybe not  _ anything _ .  Dammit, how was he going to wiggle his way out of this one?  “Oh, you know…” He hoped that he wasn’t visibly sweating. “I really like being a part of something greater than myself.”  That, at least, was true.

Anduin raised his brows and threw on a lopsided smile.  “It’s nice, isn’t it? That’s one of the reasons why I joined the priest order.”

“What’s the other reason?” Horace blurted.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem taken aback.  Or maybe he was, but was just a good diplomat and didn’t want Horace to know he had just eviscerated any chance of a second date.

“My connection to the Light, I suppose,” he mused with a small shrug.  “The Church offered me a sanctuary and sense of peace amidst to much chaos in my life.”

Horace nodded in complete understanding.  “Everyone is equal under the Light,” he intoned, a phrase that he had been hearing since his first days as a squire.

“Exactly!”  Anduin’s smile blossomed to encompass his whole face, eyes crinkled happily, and Horace almost wound up lost in those bright blue oceans.

“I’d imagine it’s sometimes a welcome break from being king.”

His face fell almost immediately.  “It is,” he confessed, pushing around the bits of vegetables on his plate.  “These past few months have been a whirlwind. I haven’t had time to leave the keep since--” He cleared his throat, meeting Horace’s eyes again with a tiny chuckle. “I have to write a speech for the New Year’s celebration tomorrow, but, for the life of me, I can’t think of anything to say.”

Hoping to repair any damage, he put on a comically large grin and gave two thumbs up.  “Great job, gang! Keep it up!”

Anduin ducked his head and laughed, and Horace joined him.  The butterflies began to melt away, giving rise to a deeper sense of ease in one another’s presence.

“A part of me wants to, if only to see their reactions,” he finally managed.

“You should talk about how well everyone’s working together,” Horace suggested.  “We never would have defeated Helya if we hadn’t been able to stop fighting.”

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?  Alliance and Horde, united at last,” Anduin breathed, looking a bit wistful.  “Granted, it is tenuous. I get daily reports that are mostly just complaints if a Horde soldier even breathes in their direction.”

He shrugged.  “They’ve been at war so long that putting old grudges aside seems impossible.  Maybe it is.”

“I hope not.  If we win this was against the Legion, though, it may make people realize that the other faction is not the same Horde that came through the Dark Portal all those years ago.”

“We  _ will _ win,” Horace insisted.  “And people will realize.  I worked alongside them; they’re good folks that want the same basic things the Alliance does.”

Anduin threw his hands up and cried again, “Exactly!”  His hands came back down to his lap. “I’m glad you agree.”

_ He has the cutest expressions… _ Horace was about to open his mouth to reply, but the sound of boots on stone moving closer and someone calling the king’s name silenced him.

“Anduin.”  Genn Greymane wasted no time with formalities, briefly glancing to Horace but not seeming to recognize him.  “Reports have come in from Suramar. We are meeting in the war room in five minutes.”

His shoulders slumped a little in defeat, but the high king could not ignore his responsibilities.  “Of course. I will be there momentarily.”

Genn inclined his head sharply, turned on heel, and marched out, hands behind his back.

“Sorry about this,” Anduin muttered.  “I wish we had more time.”

Horace shrugged.  “This was still really nice.  I-I’m glad you asked me.”

“Can we… do this again sometime?” Anduin asked him, once again fidgeting with his hands.

Nodding eagerly, Horace squeaked, “Of course!”  He cleared his throat, color rising. “Of course.”

Their gazes lingered on one another a moment longer, neither wanting their time together to end.  Duty called, however, and eventually Anduin softly said, “Goodnight, Horace.”

“Goodnight, Anduin.”

 

He was doing his absolute best to let his eyes glaze over or bust up into fits of giddy laughter over how well his first date with Horace had gone during a very important briefing on the siege of the Nighthold, but dammit if it wasn’t difficult.  Anduin Llane Wrynn was so head over heels for that paladin he was surprised that he hadn’t face-planted on the ground yet. For once, his own head was less of an awful place to be in, because now it was filled with thoughts of the darkest, kindest eyes he had ever seen, how he wanted to run his fingers through that fluffy brown hair and kiss those lips that always seemed to be tugged up in a smile.  

The thought that it could never work in Stormwind’s current political environment was one he tried to ignore.  Horace made him so, so happy, helped to push away the hurricane of negative emotions he was caught up in. Anduin was an idiot, but he was an idiot for him, so maybe that was okay.

 

“Oh, dearest heartache, you are a wind on the breeze!”

Natalie cackled at her girlfriend’s dramatic rendition of that night’s particularly terrible readings.  Hanging onto one another in their tipsy haze, they stumbled down the hallway leading to Saskia’s room, smooching and recalling more bad poetry.

Saskia fumbled with the knob while locking lips with her very gorgeous partner.  The two staggered into the room, making directly for the bed as the bells chimed for the eleven o’clock hour.  Giggling, they tossed off their shoes and flopped over…

… Only to be startled by the groggy, indignant yelp of the body they landed on.  Horace took Saskia’s pillow and swatted at both of them. “Get off,” he whined.

“No, you,” Natalie returned, rolling over to an empty spot.

“Too lazy.”

Apparently not lazy enough to let Saskia stay lying on top of him, as he wriggled out from under her and shoved her to the side like a sack of potatoes.  She grumbled, but otherwise gave no protest. It was late, and they were all tired.

“How’s your date?” Natalie inquired, voice muffled by the mattress.

“I think I’m in love.”


	18. Before the Sh/tstorm

Victory in Suramar!

It was news Natalie was delighted to wake up to.  According to Lady Jaina, the leader of the Nightborne rebellion, First Arcanist Thalyssra, would claim the position of ruler, with her fellow rebels remaining close advisors.  Mention of the Arcan’dor and its powers to heal mana addiction and cure withering were what truly caught her attention. No doubt it was a heavily-guarded tree with access granted only to those who the First Arcanist trusted completely.  That didn’t really keep her from yearning to study it, though.

“Yes, they might take offense if you go poking and prodding the key to their salvation,” Lady Jaina told her with a chuckle.

Archmage Khadgar had stopped by Jaina’s estate the next morning, red-rimmed eyes and quiet voice a dead giveaway that he was massively hungover.  Natalie didn’t miss the way Jaina raised the level of her voice just enough to make the man wince at every syllable. She tried to contain her amusement, but occasionally she couldn’t help it, disguising her chuckles as needing to clear her throat.  Which, of course, Khadgar flinched at, and the cycle began anew.

“He deserved it,” Jaina informed her once the archmage finally excused himself to “freshen up,” which was probably code for “throw up.”

“Should we make him some coffee or something?” Natalie asked.

Jaina, however, didn’t seem to hear her, staring out the window.  “Bastard thinks he can sweep the Council of Six out from under me.  I _am_ the Council of Six.”

“I, uh, I think I might brew some more coffee.  I could use a little pick-me-up.”

“Just conjure it, Kinndy; I taught you how,” Jaina grumbled.

Natalie sucked in a breath as the words hit her ears.  The noise seemed to startle Jaina, as the archmage turned to her with wide eyes and a furrowed brow.  Their gazes met, and Natalie could tell that they were both just as hurt by the remark.

Jaina’s irises became muddled by tears.  She opened her mouth to speak but no noise came out, so she closed it again, teeth clacking audibly.

“I’m going to go work on my project,” Natalie announced quietly.  She finally tore her eyes away from her teacher and walked out of the room, brushing past Khadgar without a word.

*

She let out a cry of frustration, throwing her hands up as she let her tools drop onto the table.  “This felguard isn’t going to dissect itself, idiot,” she hissed to herself.

Even in her rattled state, however, she recognized that her experiment was a lost cause today.  She peeled her examination gloves and mask away, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. She didn’t even know _why_ it had bothered her as much as it had.  It had just been a slip of the tongue. Yet it still stung.  No one had been as promising as Kinndy. In her absence, there had been a power vacuum that all the top apprentices had struggled to fill, clambering over one another to reach the pedestal she had been placed on.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she tried to focus on the positives.  She was Jaina goddamn Proudmoore’s apprentice, for Light’s sake. It had been her dream since she was first reading the archmage’s thesis on ley lines.

“Mind if I confer with you for a moment?”

Natalie turned to look at Khadgar, flicking her hand so that the felguard became frozen and covered again.  “I don’t mind,” she mumbled.

“Lady Proudmoore regrets that slip of the tongue a great deal,” Khadgar informed her.  His eyes scanned over the thick stack of notes barely contained by her clipboard. “I hope you don’t hold it against her.”

“Never,” she assured.

He nodded sagely.  “I’m glad. These incidents may happen from time to time, after all.  She’s still very much in mourning over Kinndy.”

“Grief takes time; I don’t blame her.  It just caught me off guard, is all.”

“We thought that a new apprentice may help her cope, but this may not last as long as we wish.  She may never be prepared to take on another,” he continued.

It was as if she had been punched in the gut.  For a moment, she was sad, but then she found her jaw clenching, anger welling up in her chest.  “What, like I’m a new puppy!? Like I’m meant to be a replacement for the old one?” She stood, fists balled up at her sides.

Startled, Khadgar waved his hands in front of him.  “No, no, that’s not it--”

Natalie didn’t trust herself to say something kind.  Squaring her shoulders, she made a swift exit.

*

It wasn’t until two weeks into the new year that Horace and Anduin finally found time to get together and enjoy a cup of coffee.  Horace tried not to flinch as he sat down, the rigorous drills of the day rendering him stiff and sore. Though he was less nervous now that he knew better what to expect, he still felt antsy at the thought of making a bad impression.  He wanted this to end well, rather than him awkwardly fumbling about and just generally being an idiot.

“Congratulations on your speech,” he told the king.

The way the bags under his eyes moved when he smiled was so cute.  Yet it hurt that those bags were dark violet, stark against the sunken paleness of his skin.

“Much appreciated.”  Anduin was fussing with his signet ring, going a bit pink.  “Your words inspired me.”

Great, now _he_ was blushing.  Horace ran a hand through his hair.  “Really?”

He nodded.  “I’ve dreamed for so long of the Alliance and Horde coming together as one.  To hear you say that that’s what’s happening… I can’t even describe how inspiring that is.  It gives people a reason to get up in the morning.”

 _And by people, you mean you_ , Horace thought.  “Happy to help,” he replied earnestly.

Anduin took a long sip of his coffee.  “It won’t be long before we’re going for round two at the Broken Shore.”

“We’ll teach ‘em a lesson they should’ve learned ten thousand years ago,” Horace insisted.  Elbows on the table, he leaned forward. “That Azeroth is not to be messed with.”

“All of our new allies will certainly help prove that,” Anduin agreed.

Picking up on anxious energy, he added, “Still nerve-wracking though.”

“Yes.”  He sighed through his nose, face softening.

“At least we won’t have Gul’dan to worry about.”

Anduin’s brow furrowed.  “Indeed. I can’t even believe he’s finally dead.”

 _Ah, shit.  Gul’dan killed your dad._  “Does it feel good to know that he’s gone?”

“It… kind of?  I try not to take pleasure in any death,” he replied.  He was fidgeting even more with his ring, still making eye contact but glancing around everywhere else from time to time, as if it would help the gears in his head turn faster.

It made Horace nervous to see that Anduin was nervous.  He so rarely had coffee that it was giving him jitters, too, which certainly didn’t help.  He scratched at his temple with a finger. “I mean, I guess you can be glad someone bad can’t hurt more people and still stick to your guns.  I guess.”

“Peace guns?” Anduin asked, mirth slipping into his voice.

He could feel his wound-up muscles relax like a bunch of deflating balloons.  “Precisely.” He folded his arms across his chest and nodded confidently. When the king chuckled into his coffee, Horace felt his heart flutter.

*

_Esteemed Agent,_

_Your noteworthy achievements in Stormheim have earned you notice.  Please report to my office in Stormwind Keep for proper acknowledgement and further assignments._

- _Commander Lorna Crowley_

 

Horace could feel his stomach sink.  Without even going to the Keep, he knew that “further assignments” meant one thing: the Broken Shore.  He took a deep, steadying breath, puffing it out into the crisp winter air. “Fantastic,” he muttered.

He procrastinated by finishing out his training routine, working through all the forms and stances without even thinking.  Two years of combat training, and they were well-committed to his memory. The uneasiness of the coming battle, however, made him wobbly, a crack in his armor that he knew could get him killed in a real fight.

 _Hey, I survived Helheim, right?_  And he had been a wreck before that.  He wondered if Tei was back to her old regimens as well.  He made a mental note to ask about her when he had the chance.

Hair matted with sweat and plate mail sufficiently toasty, he gave the training dummy one last, solid smack with his gladius, and stepped back to let someone else have a go.  At six in the morning, there were a surprising amount of people up and about, and a death knight quickly took his place. The chill they emenated as he brushed past felt wonderful on his skin, even if it was the chill of the grave.

“Mr. Lin; good of you to join us,” Lorna Crowley called.  

This time, his hair was damp from bathwater, but nevertheless he felt awkward about not drying it more.  Everyone else was in sparkling clean armor, with pressed tabards and well-groomed visages. And it had been a good five or six weeks since he had last cut his hair or even thought about shaving the dusting of fuzz off of his upper lip.

 _They have squires to clean their armor, you idiot_ , he thought to himself.   _That’s what squires are_ for.  He bowed deeply.  “I’m honored to be here,” he replied, hoping that he sounded earnest.

Lorna turned to the table behind her, grabbing a folded blue cloth.  “The Cloak of Cooperation. Wearing it signifies your willingness to resort to diplomacy in service of the Alliance.”

He accepted the offering, unfolding and holding it out in front of him.  It was made out of reinforced mageweave, with golden borders, and would likely end a few inches above the ground.  “Thank you, Commander. I will wear it with pride.” The cloak had two buckles, which he affixed to his breastplate.  It flowed out behind him, narrow at the top but flaring out towards the bottom. There was just one problem:

It didn’t match his armor.  In fact, it looked hideous with his olive green armor.  He wasn’t about to say that out loud, though; he valued his life.

“Now, about your next assignment…”

Lorna’s voice startled him out of his thoughts.  “Of course, Commander,” he said.

“We have been working alongside many members of the Horde to prepare for the next assault on the Broken Shore.  After our first attack and subsequent defeat, there is still a fair bit on animosity, as I’m sure you have seen.  We need people to keep this from resulting in physical disputes,” she began.

“I-I’m flattered, but--”

“But what, Agent?”

“I’ve only handled that type of situation once.  I’m not a diplomat.” He really hoped that he didn’t sound like a jackass.

Her eye twitched.  “Yes, I am well aware of that fact.  But you possess potential, and you are a familiar face amongst the Alliance and Horde champions.  Familiarity is inspiring.”

He took a deep breath.  “I understand. And I want to do my part to help save Azeroth,” he began.

“Save Azeroth?  Not just the Alliance?” she prompted.

Quirking an eyebrow, he said, “Of course.  We’re not the only ones on Azeroth.”

“But surely the Horde doesn’t deserve our help?  Not after the Broken Shore?”

“I… uh.”  He scratched the back of his head, avoiding her gaze while he thought.  Finally, he said, “I wasn’t there. I don’t know why the Horde abandoned the attack.  But… I did go into Helheim with them. They had my back, and I had theirs. They’re not all like Sylvanas.”

She laced her fingers, resting her elbows on her desk with a triumphant nod.  “And that is why I picked you, and not someone like Admiral Rodgers.”

He balked.  “Y-you were considering the Sky Admiral as well?”

“That is none of your business.  Now, wear your cloak with pride; you’ve earned it.  Dismissed!”

He snapped up into a crisp salute.  “Yes, ma’am!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that the reunion comic (which is very very good) states that jaina abandoned the kirin tor altogether but i feel like people would still check up on her from time to time to make sure that she isn't too far gone.


	19. It's Called Legionfall Because They're Making the Legion Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second battle for the Broken Shore commences!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a long, long time. mostly because i thought that academic overload would be a fun way to spend my summer but also because i got stuck. there are a finite number of ways to describe stabbing a demon to death. the next chapter will take less time because i wrote it before finishing part 1.

A week ago, he had turned eighteen, but he had been too nervous to celebrate his new adulthood and try a sip of his “first” beer.  Now he was in Dalaran, armor freshly cleaned and polished, sword sharpened and hair cut once again at Saskia’s insistence. From Krasus Landing, Horace could see the fel-blasted island that had been dubbed the “Broken Shore.”  The thought was like cotton in his mouth. News of the first battle there rattled everyone to the core. Granted, this time they were much better prepared, but defeat was horrible for morale.

Shield and gladius in hand, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves.  Darcy nudged him with his chilly snout, nearly startling him out of his skin.  Once the shock faded, he gave the proto-drake a pat.

“How’re you holding up?”

Horace turned to see Saskia walk up, hands on the hilts of her Dreadblades.  “Gotta admit, this is a lot scarier than going up against Helya and the kvaldir.”

“Eh, demons are just hyped up more,” she shrugged.  “They all die the same way.”

That may have been true, but he was nevertheless unsettled.  With any luck, the demons would get bored and leave on their own.  He really, really hoped they would, anyways.

He scanned the crowd of people in the vicinity, seeing if he recognized anyone.   _ There’s the druid, um, Narcolepsy?  Naralex!  _ Hopefully he wouldn’t say that out loud.  Several paladins stood out from his brief trip to Light’s Hope Chapel, including the anxiety-inducing Lord Shadowbreaker.  He made a point of avoiding eye contact. And walking up to him, in full Silver Hand regalia, was--

“Sir Arthur!” Horace called, waving his hand high.

The paladin was downright shocked to see him.  He quickly strode over, asking, “Sq-- ah, Horace, what are you doing here?”

He had been about to call him squire.   _ Ouch. _  “I’m an agent of the crown.”

“Quite the career change,” he remarked, stroking his beard.  “I wish you the best of luck in the coming battle. In the meantime, I must report to my commanding officer.”  He clapped Horace on the shoulder, tight eyes and wrinkled forehead making him look twice his age. “Light be with you, lad.”

“And with you, sir,” he replied.

Arms folded across her chest, Saskia leaned against Darcy and watched the esteemed paladin leave.  “I think he feels guilty.”

“Why?  It was my fault I got kicked out,” Horace reminded her.

“Yeah, but he was responsible for you.  Notice how he doesn’t have another squire?”

“Maybe there’s not enough recruits?” he supplied.

She regarded him incredulously.  “There are  _ plenty _ of recruits.  He’s probably either not allowed or not confident enough to take on a new one.”

His brow furrowed.  He couldn’t have caused something like that, right?  He was just… him. A good student who tried hard and stayed out of trouble.  Until that one incident, of course, but that was justified trouble.

“Champions of Azeroth, lend me your ears!”

Silence blanketed Krasus Landing as every eye turned to the archmage standing in the center.

“The road ahead of us is long, and fraught with dangers,” Khadgar admitted, “but any road to save Azeroth is one worth taking, no matter how perilous they may be.  If we are ever going to be rid of the Burning Legion once and for all, we must be willing to sacrifice everything.”

Horace’s blood pounded in his ears so loudly that he could barely hear anything the archmage was saying.

“Below us lies a foe we are all too familiar with.  It has defeated us only once. Today, it thinks to do so again.  Let us show those bastards how very mistaken they are! For life!  For liberty!  _ For Azeroth! _ ”

A cacophonous cheer erupted amongst those gathered.  The noise and energy buzzed around in Horace’s brain, making him giddy with anticipation.  He would have joined them if he trusted that opening his mouth wouldn’t result in embarrassment.

Saskia swung up into Darcy’s saddle, extending a hand to Horace.  He accepted it, clambering up with considerably less grace, and held on tight to her waist.  Darcy wiggled underneath and snapped his jaws, eager for the coming battle. With a chuckle, Saskia unclipped her helmet from the saddle horn and secured it on her head.

All it took was a slight nudge to send the proto-drake barrelling over the edge of the landing.  Horace grit his teeth as his stomach rose into his throat. Even when they levelled out, the queasiness lingered.

Up ahead, through the fel smoke, he saw them.   _ Hundreds _ of them.  His heart hammered, every fiber of his being desperately begging him to turn tail and run.  All the sureness he had possessed talking to Anduin was down the drain. He clenched his jaw.  No hiding. He would hit the beach running and keep running until there were no more enemies to run up to and fight.

Darcy swung his legs forward, wings snapping out to the sides to bring him to an abrupt halt, then set down on the beach.  His great maw opened wide to unleash a bout of frostfire upon a group of imps. Meanwhile, Saskia made to leap off his back and join the throng of soldiers who had already began fighting.  When she did, however, she found that she was stuck, held fast by two arms around her waist.

Fuck, he was so terrified he couldn’t move.  He opened his mouth to apologize right as Darcy side-stepped to slap away a felbat with his tail.  The two were caught off guard and sent flying out of the saddle, slamming into the sand.

“The hell, Lin?” Saskia cried.  She managed to pry him off of her and scrambled to her feet, planting her foot in the gut of an eredar spellcaster.

Horace finally steeled himself enough to stand up and bring his shield and sword up.  It took him a moment to realize that Saskia was defending him from the onslaught of demons.  She was holding her own, and other Legionfall forces were pouring onto the beach, but more and more kept coming towards her.

A switch flipped in his mind.  Despite the thick sand, he surged forward, right hand bringing his gladius across the bowels of another spellcaster.  He stayed beside Saskia and Darcy, ducking behind his shield as an imp launched a fel bolt at him. They were flighty things, but careless, and Horace was able to take four of them down with an ease that, not long ago, he hadn’t possessed.

From there, the trio surged forward, joining the Kirin Tor mages as they were frantically trying to contain a fel blaze radiating out from a nearby dreadlord.  Its whole outer shell was nothing but embers, little bits of ash crumbling off with each step. Standing firm, Horace thrust his gladius into the air, baying the Light to consecrate the scorched earth.  It radiated out from under his boots, wiping away the taint from sand. He followed the attack by launching his shield into the dreadlord’s chest.

He had mere moments to maneuver away before Darcy came crashing down, the proto-drake’s wings flailing as its jaws were locked around an unfortunate felguard’s head.  The demon clawed desperately at Darcy’s face in an attempt to free itself, but he was a persistent one, and the attempt was futile. Almost as if to gloat, he rose onto his back legs over the corpse of his target, flapping his wings and letting out an ear-shattering roar.

Meanwhile, Horace had retrieved his shield and was scanning the chaos for his next target, the mages using their frost spells to batter the felguard first into submission, then into death.  His eyes landed on a group of goblins and gnomes working together to fend off the infernals trying to reach their cache of explosives. Sucking in an anxious breath, he rushed over to dispatch the elementals before they were able to blow their forces up to smithereens.  He spun around the moment he was past the infernals, swinging his foot straight into the beady little eyes of the little fireball and sending it flying backward, an attack that, surprisingly, didn’t even leave a scuff on his armored boot. 

These demons were clearly not the intelligent kind, as they immediately abandoned the more strategic targets in favor of chasing him away from the demolitionists.  Horace provided them with ample distraction so that, by the time they realized the goblins and gnomes were raining destruction down upon them, it was too late.

The group whooped and cheered as Horace regrouped with Saskia and Darcy.  “Are we winning?” he asked, yelling to be heard over the roar of battle.

“Yes, we’re winning; keep killing things!” she cried.  Her Dreadblades shoved away the blade of an eredar warrior, and she swooped to the side, twirling as she ducked and stabbed straight up, one blade driving straight through its chin while the other pierced its stomach.  It was dead before she even yanked her blades free with a wet  _ shluck _ .

“Don’t have to tell me twice!”  He slammed into an incoming felguard, his head narrowly missing its crotch.  When it staggered back, he was able to use his forward momentum to bring his blade in an upward arc across its stomach.  It collapsed to the ground in a heap, but was fast replaced by more imps.

Horace and Saskia worked shoulder to shoulder, each anticipating the movements of the other and complimenting them nicely so that the demons were downed with ease.  Abruptly, the rogue let out a cackle and pointed up to the sky. His eyes widened as he saw the spectacle unfolding before him: at least twenty more proto-drakes were careening downward, colliding with and ultimately decimating the felbats they encountered.  Each one was the size of two Darcy’s combined, their bulk and brute strength no match for the aerial opponents headed their way.

“That’s my dad!” she exclaimed elatedly.

Horace’s jaw dropped as he saw the people hopping off of their mounts and unleashing them upon the demons that were foolish enough to run up and attack.  He was able to distinguish Saskia’s father from the rest of the Northrend vrykul by the flaming red hair that billowed out behind him. The squadron fought their way over to the two humans, and Horace was back to feeling very puny in the face of such people.

“Dad, this is Horace!”  Saskia pulled him in with a massive grin.

Although it didn’t quite seem like the right time for introductions in Horace’s book, the man with the fiery hair and equally-impressive beard waved.  “Rualg nja gabor, friend!” he bellowed, and then he was off, charging heedless into the heat of battle.

Horace was stock-still, gaping in awe at the giant, bearded warrior going whole ham on a sizeable cluster of demons with unrivalled zeal.  When the acrid stench of brimstone reach him, however, he was forced to turn his focus elsewhere as an infernal’s foot made a crater in the sand directly next to him.  His sword became a conduit for the Light, cutting through its leg like a hot knife through butter. It screamed as the top half fell away from the bottom half and sent it toppling over.  Horace let it fall before he rushed up to shove his blade between its eyes.

From there, he joined the others as they began to scramble up the hill.  Behind the Legionfall army were hundreds of green corpses littering the sand.  Substantially more, thank the Light, than the bodies of fallen Azerothians.

He took up a cheer at the sight of Odyn’s other champions, the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins.  Without hesitation, he stationed himself on the front lines alongside them, slicing and dicing demons who hadn’t yet turn tail and run.  Before he knew it, they had pushed them back to the ruins atop the hill. What he saw rising up to meet them nearly crumbled his resolve.

A pit lord thrust forth its spear.  From the jagged tip, a beam of fel magic surged towards the army, forcing them to break rank to avoid being vaporized.  Horace tried to ignore the sight of several singed, headless corpses thudding to the ground. Up above, aerial fighters split their ammunition between the felbats and the pit lord.  Saskia had joined them, raining down hell from her proto-drake, managing to land every grenade no matter how Darcy twisted and turned. It was a miracle that she remained in the saddle.

Over the din, Khadgar could be heard yelling, “Focus your spells on the pit lord!  Five melee keep on it; the rest of you, fan out! We have a whole army to dismantle!”

The overhead assault distracted the pit lord long enough to allow the melee fighters to get close enough to strike.  Horace jabbed his blade into the belly of the beast repeatedly, the thick flesh nigh impossible to rip through. At his side, a druid in bear form raked their dagger-sized claws down the demon’s front leg.

Its arms were too short to reach down easily, but the pit lord made up for that by sweeping and stabbing its spear into those within range.  It was cumbersome and slow, easy to dodge, but some were unlucky enough to have focused too intently on their spellcasting. Their agonized screams rang in Horace’s ears.  Gritting his teeth, desperate to block out the noise.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he bobbed and weaved, slashed and hacked, his only goal to keep the pit lord’s attention on himself and not on the squishier members of the Legionfall army.  Despite all their best efforts, the demon was not going down; it hardly even showed signs of flagging. If they were to have any hope of finishing the fight, they had to down it  _ fast _ .

When Horace saw a figure flash past in his outer periphery, he didn’t think much of it.  He continued to antagonize the pit lord with biting wounds from his gladius. At one point, he decided to try bashing its lower abdomen with his shield.  He backpedalled, then charged forward and slammed the ornately-carved face into its rubbery flesh…

… And quickly realized that the pit lord’s contained much more fat than muscle.  Once the stomach decided to return to its original shape, he was sent flying back, sliding across the dirt and giving himself an impressive cut on the back of his head from where he smacked it against a rock.  Then he saw it.

The same purple blur that had barrelled past him shot up into the sky behind the dreadlord, snapping open their wings to hover in the air.  In their hands were two glowing, green warglaives. Their body was silhouetted against a hazy sun, the only things visible aside from their weapons a plethora of jagged fel tattoos and burning eyes.  A powerful flap of their wings sent them hurtling downward, bringing them right to the pit lord’s head. In a heartbeat, their glaives punctured its skull and appeared out the other side.

The pit lord shrieked in agony, convulsing once before it began to collapse.  The impact of its body hitting the earth had Horace stumbling about like a drunkard in an effort to keep from toppling over as well.

“Lord Illidan!”

Horace saw a horned elven woman lift her glaive up in salute, cloth covering her eyes but clearly not preventing her from seeing.  Could it really be…?

Saskia swung Darcy around for a landing beside Horace just as the winged figure’s hooves touched the ground.  “This guy again?” she asked incredulously. “Didn’t he die?

“So,  _ Lord _ Illidan.  Did it finally suit your fancy do lift a finger and help?”

Each word was spit out with so much venom that Horace felt his blood turn to ice.  It was like listening to ten Lord Shadowbreakers. He turned his head to see who was so obviously incensed by Illidan’s presence.

A night elf Warden was striding forward, her cloak billowing behind her.  Demon blood dripped off of her crescent-shaped glaive. When she removed her helmet to hold it against her hip, there weren’t quite words for the severity of her disgust.  Saskia, for one, looked absolutely star-struck by her.

“So good to see you, Maiev,” Illidan drawled.

“There’s still a battle going on, you two!”  That was Khadgar, using his legendary, all-powerful staff, Atiesh, like a baseball bat to fling spells at oncoming demons.  “Stop flirting and start killing!”

Illidan rolled his eyes while Maiev let loose a noise of outraged disgust.  Then, without warning, the Warden launched her glaive. Horace ducked to avoid being decapitated, though the blade probably would have sailed harmlessly over his head anyways.  He peeked over his shoulder at what Maiev’s target had been.

Coming in for a landing on the slope above where the Legionfall was fighting was a hulking eredar, almost as naked as Illidan.  Almost. His bottoms were in much better condition. Maiev’s glaive caught him in the shoulder, causing him to stagger upon impact.

“Bring this beast down!” the Warden roared, darting after her weapon.

Horace was hard on her heels, already beginning to channel into his sword.  He slashed the eredar’s shin guard, the metal turning red from the burning touch of the Light.  The eredar grunted in pain and struck out at Horace with his dagger. The jagged tip nearly missed cutting into Horace’s cheek as he side-stepped to avoid the blow, then followed through with a lunging thrust into his opponent’s exposed calf.

“Puny mortals; I, Lord Kalgorath, will turn you to ash!” the eredar proclaimed.

Horace launched his shield up at Kalgorath, hitting him in the throat.  “No thank you.”

His shield interrupted the spell that the demon was casting, producing a horrible choking noise instead.  He wrenched it back as he ran forward, delivering a Light-infused slash that sent Kalgorath staggering backward.  Beside him, Maiev was a metallic blur, her ten thousand years of combat experience unleashed upon the hulking giant with the grace and majesty of a panther.  There were others who joined the fight, including Saskia’s father. The vrykul let out a roaring laugh, his height putting him almost level with the demon’s belt, and plunged his broadsword into Kalgorath’s groin.

“The beast falters; finish the job!” Maiev cried, springing up and sending one of her steel-toed boots into the demon’s thigh.  She wasted no time even as she descended, her glaive slicing and dicing his leg into a bloody mess.

Kalgorath doubled over as Saskia’s father wrenched his blade free, giving Horace the perfect opportunity to bring his sword arcing over his head and across the demon’s abdomen.  He turned his head away and brought his shield up as fel blood rained down upon him. Thankfully, his metal face was large enough to save his flesh face from destruction. Before he could think to react, a hand grabbed him by the collar of his breastplate and yanked him back, carrying him safely out of the path of the collapsing demon.  Both he and Maiev lost their footing at several thousand pounds of eredar shook the earth with his impact.

When he scrambled to his feet again a moment later, Horace went to extend his hand to Maiev, but the Warden had already been on her feet and rushing to decimate another wave of demons by the time he turned around.

From somewhere behind him, he could hear Khadgar cry out, “We have taken the hill!  Legionfall, push them down the slope!”

Horace tried to shake off some of the blood from his armor and shield as he jogged over to the bulk of the army.  “We’re winning!” he called to Saskia. She pumped her fist in the air in response, her other hand busy jabbing a blade into the eye of an imp.

Another hand grabbed him before he could descend the other slope.  Commander Crowley stopped by his side. “Remain here; defend the hill,” she ordered.  He gave her a salute and watched as she, alongside Saskia, used the high ground to their advantage in their assault of the demon army.  Those who had not turned tail and fled already were made mince meat by the Legionfall.

He was so busy paying attention to his fellow soldiers that he forgot to do the one thing he had been asked to do: defend the hill.

“Look out!”

Horace whirled around, and found himself with barely enough time to bring his shield up as a felbat swooped in for the kill.  It slammed into him with an ear-piercing shriek, packing such a punch that the breath was ripped from his lungs. He struggled to breathe again and free himself from underneath the beast, his legs flailing desperately while his arms were crushed against his chest, panicked cries for help escaping him.

Before his disbelieving eyes, thick, gnarled roots appeared from behind the felbat, lashing out at it.  They wrapped themselves around its limbs and threw it into the ruins of a tower as if it were a pebble. A smear of bright green blood stained the crumbling stone once it peeled off and fell, dead, to the ground.

“Are you injured?”

Horace sat up, coughing heavily, and gazed up at the figure standing over him.  “Naralex,” he wheezed, accepting the elf’s hand and standing despite the protests of his bruised and battered muscles. “Thanks for the help.”

Inclining his head, he replied, “My pleasure.  You’ve improved greatly since the last time we fought together.”

“Commander Crowley’s drills are  _ intense _ .”

Naralex laughed.  “So I’ve heard.”

Horace wiped the sweat from his brow and brushed his blood-sticky bangs out of his eyes.  Light, he could not wait to bathe. “You know, I’m kind of surprised Tei wasn’t here. She seemed pretty high-ranking.”

At first, he looked confused.  Then his ears drooped. “By Elune, I really do hate to be the bearer of bad news.”

“W-what do you mean?” Horace wondered, though truthfully he regretted ever saying anything.

“She passed away not long after her return to Greywatch.  Slept with a concussion, I believe. It was a tragic thing, truly, but magic can’t heal everything.”

He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

“Were you close friends?” Naralex prompted.

Arms folded across his chest to hide how his hands shook, Horace said, “Ah, no, I just--it’s a terrible loss.”

“Indeed,” the druid lamented.  “And we will see many more before the war is over.  Such is the price we must pay to keep Azeroth safe.”

“Yeah.”  He swallowed hard, acutely aware of the horrific stench of death that surrounded him, his vision flooded with the sight of the fallen, burnt and bleeding and staring at nothing.  “I’ll, um, catch up with you later. I should probably check in with the commander.”

“Of course.”

He hurried behind the tower so he could be sick in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's why i didn't pick a npc from the monk order hall


	20. War(craft) Never Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long chapter. wow this is a long chapter. enjoy!

Saskia was grumbling something unpleasant about Genn Greymane as she read through her mail, but Horace didn’t have the energy to try and discern what she was saying.  Three days had passed since their successful assault on the Broken Shore; to him, they were a blur. He had spent the time defending workers who had been teleported in to construct barracks and fortifications, trying to keep them reassured that, no, felbats were not going to carry them away and feed them to their young.  Guards like him were given four hours of defense, five hours of rest. A routine that proved to be considerably more exhausting than it sounded, considering that he hadn’t been able to sleep much since his conversation with Naralex. And, of course, he had become a one-man H.R. department. It amazed and disillusioned him how many sock thieves resided within the Legionfall’s ranks.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Saskia asked.

Horace rubbed his sore eyes and yawned.  “No, I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“I said I need to go to Stormwind.  Are you coming?”

“Why Stormwind?”

“Anduin’s going through some heavy stuff and Greymane has the emotional complexity of a dead slug,” she explained.  “I also got a letter from Nat’s new mentor. She’s been off the radar for a few days and it’s got me worried.”

That wasn’t very like her.  “Is she okay?”

“Physically, I have no doubt.  It would take an army to bring a mage like her down.  But she’s obviously upset, so I want to see if I can help.  Are you coming?”

He shook his head.  “I have to listen to more people complaining about who used who’s toothbrush.”

“Well, that sounds like a whale of a good time,” she said, standing and stretching.  “Let me know if you need anything while I’m there.”

What he really needed was a good night’s sleep and a hug from his mom, but those things weren’t going to happen for a while.  “Safe travels,” he told her.

By the time she had packed up and left, he was up for another guard shift.  He forced his sore, weary bones to start walking, choking down a few mouthfuls of water once he was at his station.  A couple of mages and warlocks were burning the corpses of the most recent wave of demons so that the workers could continue.  Everyone appeared roughly as rested and alert as he did, eyes bruised and bloodshot. The guard he relieved from his post was fighting tears as his companion had to almost carry him to the medical tent.

“Um, excuse me Horace!”

He ran his hand down his face and groaned.  “What can I help you with?” he asked, feigning amiability as he turned around.

A goblin demolitionist was dragging a gnome behind him by the ear, furious stomps sending up little puffs of dust.  “This asshole tried to light me on fire!”

“Because you shaved off my mustache!” the gnome snapped back.

“Only because you kept stealing my lugnuts!”

“Well, you--”

Horace’s eye was twitching uncontrollably.  Whoever had recommended him over Admiral Rodgers was about to regret their decision.  Picking up the goblin in one hand and the gnome in the other, he pulled them close to his face.

“I don’t give a rat’s  _ ass _ who started it,” he whispered, “because you people are twice my age, and should be able to handle your own problems.  Like.  _ Adults _ .”

Both of them hung from his grasp, dead silent, his wide and maniacal gaze darting back and forth between them.

“Agent!  What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Horace dropped the two in fright, whirling around to salute rigidly for the fast-approaching Lorna.  He had fucked up, he was done for, he was going to die. He was very dizzy from turning so fast.

She stopped mere inches from him, peering into his very soul.  In those moments, he was uncertain he continued to breathe. After what felt like an eternity, she said, “Walk with me.”

He did as he was told.  He stayed at her flank, keeping with her quick pace and trying not to avoid eye contact with curious onlookers.  To his surprise, she led him away from the command center and all the crowds, choosing a spot overlooking the shore and the ocean beyond.

“Are you able to handle your position?” she asked him.  Her voice was far from accusatory.

He took a deep breath to try and calm down.  “I want to. I’m trying my best… aside from, uh, what you just saw.”

She nodded.  “It’s not my intention to feed you to the wolves.  I know you have potential, and I know you’re motivated, but if you aren’t ready, then that’s fine.”

Then he could go home.  He could go back to his family and… and what?  Hide his head in shame?

“It’s not that I can’t handle it,” he told her.

“I’m listening.”

He stared out at the dreary water, a frown creasing his brow.  “Before Odyn’s trials, there was a monk who helped me keep a level head.  Her name was Tei. She was injured during the fight, and I thought she was going to be okay, so I left to go fight Helya.  She died.”

“War is rife with death,” Lorna pointed out.

“I didn’t think Helya deserved to die, though.  But I helped kill her anyways, when I could’ve helped someone else live.”

She was quiet for a spell.  Eventually, she asked, “Tell me, do you know how to recognize a concussion?”

“N-no.”

“Do you know how to treat one?”

Her point sank in.  “No,” he admitted softly.

She rested a hand on his shoulder.  “Then it is not your failure,” she insisted.

Several steps down the hill, she paused.  “Take an extra rest period. You’re dead on your feet.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

His armor was unbuckled and placed haphazardly near the tent flap, and was asleep moments after he pulled the blanket over him.

*

Helheim loomed before him, its total silence chilling him more than the frigid air.  There had been noises last time, whispers and distant, garbled shrieks for mercy. He took a hesitant step forward, reaching for his sword but finding only an empty scabbard belted to his hip.  His titan-forged armor was gone; instead, he wore his civilian fatigues, useless against the blades of his enemies.

“Hello?” he asked, then clamped a hand over his mouth.

The one word loomed like thunder.  His heart rate sped up at the thought of being rushed by kvaldir, but as the seconds turned into minutes, none came.  He took a second step forward.

The soggy earth vanished beneath his feet.  He let out a scream as he tumbled into the darkness.  There were tiny, bright stars surrounding his rapidly-descending body, the only things to break up the void.  The breath was wrenched from his lungs even though he still cried out in terror.

“I languish in  _ nothingness _ .”

He jolted awake in a cold sweat, shaking and panting.  That had been Helya’s voice. Running clammy fingers through his hair, he sat up, trying to swallow against the dryness in his throat.  Light, what had he done?

*

Natalie hugged her cloak tighter about her person, keeping her hood low as she stared out across the bay at the city of Boralus.  A few days ago, she would have jumped at the chance to go exploring the world-renowned port city, interview the tide sages and ask about Daelin’s Gate.  On that bright blue afternoon, however, she just wanted to stay as far away from people as possible.

“Natalie!  Thank the Light I found you.”

She recognized Jaina’s voice immediately.  Of course she had come looking for her. Couldn’t let the therapy apprentice go missing; she might get sad.  With a frustrated snarl, Natalie stood, not even bothering to dust off her robes, and let her fingers to do the talking.  Before Jaina could take another step towards her, an arcane haze swirled about her vision. When it faded, she was in Saskia’s room in Stormwind Keep.  She highly doubted the archmage would follow her here unless she also planned on confronting Anduin.

For the time being, the library seemed the best place to go to cool off.  She inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth, trying to suppress the overwhelming sense of betrayal coursing through her veins.  Khadgar’s words hadn’t made her… angry, persay, but she was wounded. The beginnings of tears burned behind her eyes, but she kept good posture and a stiff upper lip as she traversed the keep, smiling and nodding in greeting at the guards she passed.

She bid good day to the librarian at his desk and headed straight for the fiction section.  The author of the  _ Steamy Romance _ novels had also produced an ongoing political thriller serial.  It had been her go-to when she was especially stressed, a cheesy, somewhat predictable, yet attention-grabbing enough that she was able to curl up in a corner and forget her troubles for a while.

It wasn’t long before people growing louder interrupted her mid-sentence, making her eyebrow twitch.  With a quiet grumble, continuing to stare at the words but no longer bothering to read them.

“I’m sorry, Genn,” came a quavering voice that she knew immediately to be Anduin’s.  “I tried to keep it together, I just…” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Seeing the compass again, it just reopened a wound.”

The other speaker, clearly Genn, hummed his concern.  “I understand. Take a moment, compose yourself. Your advisors and I will be waiting in the map room when you are ready.”

Natalie waited until the old king’s footsteps could no longer be heard before she said, “I’m in here, by the way.”

He appeared from behind a bookcase after a moment, bloodshot, puffy eyes relaying his distress.  In his hand was the compass he had talked about. “It’s good to see you, Nat,” he told her. His brow furrowed.  “Bad day?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, pulling another chair next to hers and patting it.

Sitting down next to her, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”  As frustrated at Jaina as she was, she knew that the archmage did not want to be found for the time being, and respected that.  She was absolutely going to tell Saskia about it, though. “But I think I’m going to be here for a while, so if you want to cry on my shoulder, feel free.”

He accepted the invitation, resting his temple on her shoulder so that the top of his head rested in the crook of her neck, and she leaned on him in kind, the only sounds to be heard the occasional sniffle or shaky exhale as Anduin tried to keep the dam in his heart from bursting.

*

Saskia’s father was a vastly different person off the battlefield, going from berserker to gentle giant.  The man handed Horace a full ration of stew and sat next to him by the fire with a contented sigh.

“Nice work today,” he said, brushing his long reddish-brown hair out of his face.

Horace didn’t have much of an appetite, but still forced himself to choke down some of the stew.  “Thank you, sir.”

“Ah, call me Roland,” he insisted with a shake of his head.  “‘Sir’ is my father-in-law’s name.” He chuckled at his own joke.

At Horace’s despondency, Roland asked, “Copper for your thoughts?”

“I…”  He took a deep breath and ruminated over whether or not he should say anything.  This man seemed like the type of dad who gave useful advice, but he wasn’t usually one to tell people he had just met about his problems.   _ Oh well _ , he thought, and launched into his story.  Roland set his food aside and listened intently, nodding along.

When he finished, the vrykul remarked, “Well, even if it’s hard, you should try to accept that it wasn’t your fault.  Freak things happen; all we can try to do is live for what we still have.” He munched on another large spoonful before continuing.  “But I do know someone who might be able to help.”

Horace’s stomach clenched, his mind leaping to whether or not Tei had left a family behind.  “Who is it?” he asked hesitantly.

“A monk: Stormstout.  He came to the Darkmoon Faire and broke a glass with his beer-belch.  Awe-inspiring thing to witness. Anyways, he’s around here somewhere. I’ll talk to him for you.”

Curiosity tugged at him.  “What do you think he can do?”

“Not sure, but monks are good at the whole ‘emotional contemplation’ thing,” Roland replied with a shrug.

Though not opposed to the idea, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to bother the monks when everyone was already so busy with the war.  That, and he felt obligated to stay and continue his work breaking up inter-faction squabbles. He had to make sure that goblins and gnomes could both create equally-large explosions, that elves knew trolls were not savages, that one type of elf wasn’t trying to paint “mature anatomy” on another type of elf’s armor, and take on guard duty shifts for those who had become too injured to fight, which meant he would forgo more sleep and be covered in more demon blood… 

“I’d appreciate it,” he told the vrykul.

*

Anduin had had to return to the map room and his waiting advisors, but Natalie, true to her word, had remained in the library, and that was where Saskia had found her.

The mage set her book down, rising on legs stiff from sitting so long.  She wordlessly embraced her girlfriend, ignoring the lingering smell of brimstone on her armor in favor of letting herself drink in the presence of the woman she so loved.  They pressed a chaste kiss to one another’s lips for a long, quiet moment before taking their seats.

“Jaina sent me a letter saying you were missing,” Saskia prompted.

Natalie pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her cheek so that she could still look at her.  “Khadgar showed up,” she mumbled, fighting the rising lump in her throat.

Quirking an eyebrow, the rogue asked, “Khadgar?”

“There was an incident while he was there.  Jaina and I were getting along really well, she was teaching me so much, until…”  She took a deep breath. “She mistook me for Kinndy--her apprentice killed in the Theramore bombing.”

Saskia looped an arm around her shoulders, encouraging Natalie to lean into her.

“I panicked and left.  Khadgar approached me about it later.  He said--” Her voice broke, and she had to pause to reign herself in again.  “He said that I was supposed to help her deal with Kinndy’s death. That was why she had taken me on.  To replace someone else, not because…”

“Oh, Nat,” Saskia murmured sadly.

“Not because I was good enough,” she rasped.  “I thought I was good enough.”

She angled her body so that she embraced Natalie again, resting her face in that bed of soft curls atop her head.  “You  _ are _ good enough.  You’re  _ more _ than good enough.  Nat, when I see you, I’m seeing someone more intelligent than anyone on the Council of Six.  You got to be the top of your class because you never give up, because you love what you do, and I’m not just saying this to make you feel better.  You inspire me.”

Natalie’s shoulders trembled with her quiet crying.

“And screw  _ anyone _ who thinks that they can take advantage of you, or undermine you, or hurt you.  They can eat your dust.”

She gave a shaky laugh at that, sitting up so that she could wipe her eyes.  She accepted the handkerchief Saskia handed her. “Thanks, love. That does make me feel better.”

“I’m always here for you,” Saskia told her, and she meant every word.

*

“Heyo, Horace!”

He stared up at the charcoal-furred figure striding towards him with a mix of trepidation and impress.  “Are you the monk Roland was talking about?” he asked, rising to shake his hand. He didn’t know someone could give him a bear hug in the form of a handshake, but he quickly learned it was possible, his entire hand engulfed in two hulking paws.

“That’s me.  I understand you have some trouble brewing; lucky for you, I have a solution,” Chen Stormstout told him.

“And this won’t take more than a day, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied with a nonchalance that Horace found less than reassuring.

“Commander Crowley only granted me a day’s leave,” he explained, the last word turning into a yelp as Chen abruptly wrapped an arm around him and pulled him into a sidelong embrace.  He flailed, one hand smacking the pandaren’s stomach that his face was currently being crushed against. There was a feeling of weightlessness, then the terrain beneath his feet shifted.  When he finally managed to extract himself and gulp in much-needed air, he was on a cobblestone path winding through a lush meadow. The sky above him was a bright blue broken up by fluffy clouds.  Looking around, he couldn’t find an ocean, but the scent of salt was still wafting past him.

Chen closed his eyes and drank in the air, exhaling with a content sigh.  “Welcome,” he said, looking down at Horace, “to the Wandering Isle.”

While they walked, Horace found himself slack-jawed at the sights he beheld.  Every nook and cranny was flush with life, every monk they passed giving a smile and a hearty hello.  It was easy to see how their order managed to stay so serene.

The tension in his limbs didn’t fade, however.  Uncertainty gnawed at him the closer he and Chen got to the vast, high structure the pandaren told him was called, “The Temple of the Five Ways.”  He had always thought there were only four directions; maybe the fifth one was supposed to be something spiritual. He didn’t want to be rude in asking.  Chen had probably gone out of his way as it was for him. Hopefully Horace wouldn’t get him killed, too. The thought soured his gut.

Inside the temple, it was dimly-lit and quiet.  Guards on either side of the entrance bowed as they strode by.  Horace tried to mimic their movements and nearly tripped over his own feet in the process, much to his embarrassment.

At one corner, another pandaren sat at a table and poured over the bevy of scrolls littering the surface.  He smiled as the two approached him. “Ah, Chen, it is good to see you,” he said. “Are you staying long?”

“Just here for some supplies, but I brought my friend.”  He gave Horace a pat on the shoulder.

“Yes, yes, of course.”  He began rolling up his works, gesturing to the seat opposite him.  “Please, join me.”

Horace finally understood how gnomes felt the moment he sat down in the pandaren-sized chair.  Chen left before he could thank him, leaving him wondering how he was going to get back to the Broken Shore.  He would have to burn that bridge when he got to it.

“It’s nice to meet, you, um…”

The man inclined his head and supplied, “Lorewalker Cho.”

“Lorewalker Cho,” he finished.

“I understand you face great inner conflict.  We will get to that, but first, tea.” Cho rose and turned his attention to the cart behind him.  Horace watched as he scooped up powdered leaves, a honey-like substance, and something that looked like a bug’s wing, which he crumbled into the boiling pot of water, stirring the whole concoction and pouring it into two porcelain cups.

“It is tradition for the guest to have the first taste,” Cho informed him.

Though a shade apprehensive about the bug-brew, his parents didn’t raise a rude guest.  After blowing away some of the steam, he took a sip and found that… “It’s good,” he said in earnest.

“Thank you.  The Amberfly wing usually puts off outsiders,” he remarked with a chuckle.

Horace drank deeply enough to actually make a dent in the bowl-sized cup.  Through the heat, he could taste the usual astringency mixed with a gentle sweetness that left him refreshed and satisfied.

“Tea is as much food for the soul as, well, food.”  The monk laughed again.

He launched into a history of tea-crafting on Pandaria, which Horace did his best to follow.  As it was, he was starting to get sleepy. Lorewalker Cho’s anecdotes weren’t doing much to keep him alert.  It took him a while, but eventually he realized that his host hadn’t touched his own cup.

“Hey,” he slurred, narrowing his eyes and sluggishly jabbing a finger at Cho.  “Youuuuu  _ drugged _ me.”

The pandaren shook his head.  “I would be a terrible host if I drugged my guests.”

Horace was already wobbling to his feet, using the table to balance as his world blurred in and out of focus.  “I’m gonna tell on you,” he grumbled.

Cho stood and began to move over to Horace.  “Be careful; you’re going to--”

“Hey everybody!”  He let go of the table as the monks turned around, lurching forward.  In front of him was a set of small steps, an obstacle his brain processed too late.  “Stairs,” he sighed, and his face collided with the floor.

*

He didn’t remember waking up or travelling any distance, but he was currently on his feet, un-drugged, and in the Halls of Valor, of all places.  The arena was empty, the silence it brought with it deafening. He was still wearing his titan-forged armor, but his helm was missing. Cast to the side of the floor were his sword and shield, the face staring up at the night sky, and he didn’t know if he should go pick them up; there was nothing attacking him.

“There is always such pleasant weather here.”

With a gasp, he staggered to the side.  Tei regarded him warmly, paws clasped in front of her.

“You-you, am I--?” he spluttered.

“Peace, young paladin,” she urged, putting a paw on his arm.  “Your time on Azeroth is long yet.”

He puffed out a sigh of relief against the tightness in his throat, running a hand through his hair and battling back the tears welling up in his eyes.  “I…” His voice gave out. He swallowed hard, to no avail. “I’m so sorry you died, Tei,” he choked out.

“I don’t have to look hard to see the guilt you carry.  You blame yourself for my passing. You feel regret for Helya,” she stated.

Horace sensed no malice in her voice, yet he continued to apologize through his tears.

“Weep if you must; cleanse your soul.  But realize that the only one you have hurt is yourself.”  Tei met his watery gaze.

“I  _ killed _ Helya,” he insisted, disbelief mixing with his sorrow.

“For many of the living,” she continued, “death is shrouded in fear.  It is a journey into something wholly unknown. Yet for some, it is liberation.  Helya’s soul is freed from its prison. She and I, we are in perfect union with the universe.  And I am not resentful over my death. My life was full, and my time had come. No one, not even someone as stubborn as you, can stop the hands of fate, and that is alright.”

Now he was crying in earnest, finding vindication in her words.  “You’ll be okay?” he asked shakily.

She placed both paws on his shoulders, expression fond.  “Yes. And so will Helya. And you.”

She paused, using her thumbs to wipe away the tear tracks on his cheeks, then said, “We are a tiny part of a very big universe, yet we can bring so much change.  When I look at you, I see someone who can do so much good. All of it, no matter how small, is meaningful. You are a good person who can leave a great legacy. You will love, and will be loved.  And isn’t that just the most wonderful part of living?”

“Yeah.”  He took a deep breath, sobs ebbing with his adrenaline, but there was a new energy that filled him, and when he spoke again, his voice was stronger, surer.  “It is.”

Though Tei, along with the Halls of Valor, was beginning to shimmer and fade like so much stardust, her smile was full of pride.  “Keep doing good, and be brave. You are never alone.”

*

He was going to have the ugliest bruise.  The cheekbone that had made contact with the wooden floor throbbed with increasing intensity the more aware and awake he became.  He groaned and sat up, gingerly touching the tender area and sucking in a breath at its poor reaction.

“My dream brew is meant to open the mind’s eye to visions.  The past, the present, the future, and everything in between; whatever you seek, you can find a way to see.”

Horace regarded Lorewalker Cho skeptically.  “So… you drugged me, but it was for a good cause.”

“Yes.”  The pandaren handed him a mug of cool water.  “Did you see what you sought?”

“Yes.”  Light, visions made him thirsty.  And hungry.

Cho’s round ears flicked forward at the sound of Horace’s snarling stomach, and he laughed heartily.  “Perhaps you would enjoy one of our famous bean buns.”

It took Horace less than a second to find his new favorite food.  He eagerly accepted the leaf-wrapped gift of more, taking another one out and stashing the rest in his pack where they wouldn’t be squished.  “Thank you for helping me,” he told Cho.

He smiled.  “I aspire to do what I can.  I’m glad I could aid you in your time of need.”

“It’s appreciated.”  Polishing off his second bun, he added, “One more thing, if you don’t mind.”

The pandaren nodded.

“Do you have a way to return to the Broken Isles?” he asked.

There was a portal to Dalaran established nearby, according to Cho.  Horace found it easily enough, hefting his pack over his shoulder and stepping through.  The bizarre sensation of arcane travel made him cringe as he stepped out into the streets of Dalaran, taking a moment to orient himself.  At Krasus Landing, he managed to scavenge enough silver from the depths of his pack to acquire a flight to the Legionfall encampment. The flight master levelled him with a bemused stare as he mounted the gryphon, picking out the lint before pocketing the money.

During the brief flight, he reflected more on what Tei’s spirit had told him.  He would love and be loved… it was hard not to think of a certain someone at those words.  The romantic sap lurking in his heart wanted to sweep the man off his feet and kiss him passionately, then ride off into the sunset atop a tireless steed.  They would lay on a grassy hill side by side and gaze up at the sides, holding hands and pressed close for warmth. He would lean in close, his eyes sliding shut as his hands roamed…

His gryphon was landing.  He pat the feathery beast on the neck once he dismounted, waiting until it had taken off again before making his way down the hill.  Lorna inclined her head at him as he gave her a two-fingered salute off his brow. It felt good to be back.  _ He  _ felt good being back.  People bustled to and fro; in the distance, he could see the Tomb of Sargeras looming large and imposing.  He internally thumbed his nose at it. Azeroth was far too stubborn to let demons stop them.

He made to check the chalkboard, looking to see who needed a break from guard duty.  Yet there was something about the person in the tattered cloak near the fire that kept his attention.  He walked over to them instead, eyebrows rising as he could see distinctive golden strands of hair peeking out from their hood.  Then it hit him.

“Anduin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been relentlessly listening to the mountain goats and swiss army man soundtrack while writing this and it's not edited yet but i'll get to it eventually. next chapter... disembodied rainbow fist.


	21. Disembodied Rainbow Fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HERE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so, so, SO excited to share this chapter with you all. it's a heavy chapter, but the ending is immensely satisfying and i'm still giggling like a moron because i love love. happy pride month lovelies!

He jumped, instinctively pulling his hood further down as people looked about to see if the king truly was there.  When he saw who was walking towards him, however, his tension turned into surprise. “Horace?” he called lowly, keeping close to his horse.

“What brings you here?” he asked.  “And… dressed like that?”

“It’s a disguise; I’m not here on official business,” Anduin admitted.

It was a pretty terrible disguise, if Horace could recognize him so quickly.  “What, uh, business are you here on?”

“There’s something I have to do.  I-I need to go to the place where my father died.  To make peace with what happened.” His gaze fell.

Horace’s eyebrows rose.  He was thinking about traversing the Broken Shore by  _ himself? _  And Horace didn’t see any sort of weapon on him.  Then his face softened, and he said, “Calling this place ‘dangerous’ is an understatement.  Let me come with you.”

Now it was Anduin’s turn to be taken aback.  “You want--? It’s not my intention to put  _ you _ in any danger,” he began, but Horace put up a hand.

“You need protection; the whole island is swarming with demons.  Besides, I want to help, if you’ll let me.”

A warm smile split his face.  “I’d be grateful for your company.”

There was a horse in the stables that Horace was able to tack up and ride off with without anyone seeming to care, its dark bay coat blending in well with the surrounding landscape.  He rode side by side with Anduin’s black horse, and it was nice. He only wished that it was in a more peaceful setting. He was constantly on the lookout for danger instead of enjoying the company of a handsome, if a bit on edge, man.  And there were certainly enough demons to warrant a fight.

Horace left his horse a few yards back each time he plowed his way through a group of demons, work that normally would have been a lot more life-threatening had he not had Anduin.  Now his armor didn’t even have a chance to get scratched, Anduin’s spells surrounding him in a cozy, impenetrable shield of Light.

After one such battle, Horace surveyed his handiwork and remarked, “We make a good team.”

“We do, don’t we?” the king mused in reply, running a hand through his hair.  The hood had long since fallen back and he hadn’t been bothered to pull it back up yet.  “Y-you’re swordsmanship is impressive.”

Color rising, he let out a breathy chuckle and replied, “Thanks.  It took months before I even had a good defensive stance, though.”

“Still league ahead of what I can do.  Although I have mastered the ‘falling on your ass’ part,” Anduin joked.

“Hey, that’s half the battle!” Horace insisted playfully.

Once their laughter died down, the king grew pensive again.  “When you’re in battle, what goes through your mind?” he wondered.

“Well…”  Horace bit his lip.  “There’s always a part of me that’s scared senseless, but it’s, uh, repressed?  It usually surfaces after I’m out of danger, anyways. I’m looking around and seeing all this carnage, but I don’t let myself process it; I just try to keep the goal in mind and do my best to accomplish it.  I have this big bulky shield because it’s my job to protect others, not just myself.”

Anduin stared at the road ahead, brows furrowed.  “Every king before me was always right beside his soldiers on the front lines, inspiring their men simply by being there.  If I’m being honest… I have no idea if I’ll ever be able to do the same.”

Shifting his weight in the saddle, Horace said, “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of a sword.  No one gets good overnight.”

“It isn’t just that.  Going to war goes against everything I stand for.  Besides, I’m not even sure I could survive a minute in battle with one leg and limited range of motion in the rest of my body.  A king can’t be weak, physically or otherwise. Not to mention--” He scanned the desolate landscape, thinking of what to say before finally settling on, “--different.”

He had  _ no _ idea what to say to that.  Of course, he had seen Anduin using a crutch to walk before, but was it even possible to fight with one real leg?  He couldn’t reassure him that it wasn’t going to be a problem. As for the issue of weakness… “I don’t think being different makes you weak.  If it did, I’d be, like, incapable of lifting a stick.”

Anduin quirked an eyebrow at him.  “What do you mean?”

“You know how Natalie is?”  When he received a conformational nod, he said, “Well, I’m like her, but, the opposite, if that makes sense.”

“Oh.”

Now it was Horace’s turn to look confused, his heart skipping a few beats in anticipation.

“Light, I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to sound like that,” Anduin balked, clapping a hand to his forehead.  “I just-- thank you, for trusting me with that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think that it just makes you a richer tapestry.”

A smile blossomed on Horace’s face.  “Just like being gay makes yours,” he replied gently.  When he saw the way he subconsciously tensed, he added, “Not to make assumptions, of course.”

Anduin shook his head.  “No, I am. Admitting or acknowledging it feels… I’m not quite sure how to describe it.  It’s certainly a mix of emotions. The expectations surrounding my reign as king are infinite, and each one is more pressing than the last.  I need to be  _ visibly _ strong, able to intimidate my foes and garner respect from my allies, as well as mentally ineffable.  The picture of masculinity, a stalwart leader with no reservations. Someone people can willingly put their trust into, can look up to.

“My father, Bolvar…  _ everyone _ , they all sought to shelter me from the horrible truths of the world.  My father was scared of losing me, and others were merely following his example.  Now, as king, I am untested, unhardened, uncertain of my readiness.”

He turned his head to regard Horace, eyes despairing.  “I came here to understand, or at least attempt to, what my people go through when I send them off to war.  This place is beyond anything I could have imagined. Hell trembles in gazing upon this place.”

Horace listened to the man at his side pour his heart out to him, and felt his chest tighten in sympathy.  True, Anduin had no idea what this kind of hardship was like, how war shaped a person, or what the average peasant like Horace Lin and his family went through, all the hungry nights and hopeless days, the destitution, but he hadn’t fallen head over heels for him because of his naivete.  When he looked into those deep blue eyes, he saw someone taking the time to understand, who wanted to do good in the world because he so deeply cared about everyone living in it.

Scooting his horse closer to Anduin’s he reached over to put a hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze.  “You can do this.”

Anduin’s expression of unfettered gratitude said it all.  For a moment, they stayed quiet, staring into each other’s eyes as their horses moved along the path.  Yet when the road steepened, they looked ahead.

“This is the Tomb of Sargeras, then,” Anduin noted lowly.  “This is where my father died.”

Horace regarded the twisting, sinister spires of the fortress with intrepidation.  Soon enough, the Legionfall armies would siege this place. The uncharacteristic lack of demons would not last for long; hopefully, though, it would last long enough for them to leave.

“My father and I, we only had each other.  Now that he’s gone… I know that I’m not alone, but I still feel as if I am.  I miss him every day. I wish I had been able to say goodbye, and I wish I never had to,” Anduin admitted.  He dismounted just before they reached the top of the rise, and Horace now noticed the way he put more weight into his left leg than his right, and his uneven steps.

Swinging down from the saddle, he silently offered to take the other reins from Anduin.  He had never been here before, either. The devastation was immediate and refused to be ignored.  Everywhere he looked, it seemed that there were bones, Alliance and Horde, demon and otherwise, blanketing the ground like autumn leaves.  To their left was the remains of a gargantuan fel reaver. He had heard the stories veterans of the battle told, of how Varian Wrynn had sacrificed himself to destroy that thing so the Alliance airship could escape.  Its blood created a sickly green lake around the metal skull, a great crevice remaining at the top as evidence of the High King’s last stand.

And standing just ahead, backs to the pair, were Genn Greymane and the High Prophet Velen.  Horace’s inner fanboy was jumping for joy at how regal, how just plain badass Velen looked in person as he slowly turned around to acknowledge their arrival.

Meanwhile, Genn looked furious.  “How could you just  _ leave _ ?” he admonished.

Horace watched as Anduin walked past Genn, eyes trained on the bones with withering flesh still desperately clinging to them that littered the earth.  “I needed to come here,” the king insisted. “To see, and understand.”

And he lifted his head, taking it all in, the endless mementos of the disastrous battle, the cliffs upon which the Horde had fought, the crater mere yards from the entrance to the tomb.  Horace watched from a respectful distance as he stopped, falling to his knees in front of the very spot his father had been obliterated. To his left, he heard a heavy sigh, and the former king of Gilneas strode up to the grieving young man and knelt in front of him.  He was unable to make out the words they exchanged, but he could faintly see…  _ something _ … glinting underneath a layer of ash.

“Shaylamane,” he breathed.

For a while, all was quiet.  Horace quirked a brow in worry when, after a long pause, Genn began to shake Anduin’s shoulder and call to him.  Looking to the Prophet, Horace saw intrigue instead of concern. Whatever trance had overtaken Anduin, it must not have been dangerous.

Then, like something out of a fairy tale, an aura of Light radiated out of the king.  Horace gasped as the legendary sword shone bright and proud in his hands. When Anduin returned to them, he did so restored, a sure glint in his eyes and a soft smile on his face.

Yet there was something more about Shaylamane that Horace noticed.  It was similar to being in Stormheim, the feeling that something lurked, but this was far from sinister.  He could sense he was being watched in the same way Sir Arthur watched him tack up his war steed: appraising, vigilant, kind.  Velen stared at the blade as well, with the same curiosity as before. A smile ghosted past his features, and he inclined his head, the blade glowing a little brighter in response.

What.  The  _ fuck _ .  He would have to ask Natalie about this later.

Before he could question Velen about it, however, a great gust of wind buffeted dust and dirt against them.  Horace immediately went for his sword as thoughts of a demon attack arose, but he stopped halfway, sliding it back into its shield and calling, “Darcy?”

The frosty proto-drake let loose a great snort as it landed and two girls slid out of his saddle.

“Did you  _ really _ think it was a good idea to run off to this demon-infested hellscape without us?” Natalie chided, but she was already pulling Anduin into a tight but quick embrace that he gladly returned.

“In my defense, I had Horace,” Anduin replied evenly, casting a glance the paladin’s way.

He beamed.  “It was my pleasure.”

Saskia had been rummaging through Darcy’s saddlebags during that time, eventually fishing out an urn.  The collective mood grew somber once more. “Figured something simple would be best,” she said with a shrug.

She and Anduin hugged, exchanging the urn for the sword, and together, the group made their way back to the crater.  Natalie’s deft hands channelled arcane energy over the ashes, lifting them up with the gentlest touch and carrying them into the container.  To their horror, underneath a few inches of ash was a skull, cracked and shrunken. It crumbled the moment it was picked up, causing Anduin to blanche and clutch the urn tighter, but a few words of reassurance from Velen eased his grip.

After several more minutes, Natalie announced, “That’s everything.”

Anduin secured the lid, rising very slowly so as not to drop it.  His sigh of relief was shaky and wet with repressed tears. His expression, however, was hopeful, strained though it was.

As the group stepped through Natalie’s conjured portal, their silence was no longer tinged with dread or sorrow.  They arrived, to their surprise, in the garden of Lion’s Rest. The few people who were there were certainly surprised to see three Alliance leaders, their entourage, and a hulking proto-drake appear so abruptly.  When they caught sight of what Anduin clutched with caution, though, they bowed their heads in respect.

The procession stood around the vacant stone casket.  Above them, the sky was clear, and the breeze was warm, the first hints of spring sprouting up to greet the world.  Birds serenaded the midday sun. People in the city behind them bustled about. Even in the stillness of this moment, the world kept turning as it always did.

Between Velen and Natalie, the top half of the large stone monument was able to be lifted and moved aside.  Anduin curled in on the urn, hugging his father goodbye for the last time before placing it inside, just a little up from the center.  The lid was lowered once more while he took a step back to regard those gathered.

“Thank you.  All of you. It means more than words can say,” he told them.

Genn nodded sagely, a sliver of pride gleaming in his eye.  “Your father was a commendable man, who raised a commendable son.  In honoring his memory, you continue to prove that.”

Surprise became gratitude.  He appeared on the verge of tears again, but swallowed them to turn his focus to the visage of his father, lovingly carved into the cool stone, and murmur, “Thank you, Father, for all that you taught me.  May your soul find peace in the Light.”

“Rualg nja gabor.”

“Light guide you, my friend.”

“Blessings of the Light to you, my king.”

“You are one amongst the stars.”

“Go in peace.”

*

That evening, after a few hours of downtime in which to recover, Horace and Anduin reconvened on a wooden bench in the keep’s gardens that overlooked the lake and the soft pink sunset quickly taking up residence in the billowing clouds.  Conversation came easier than before, with their burdens lighter and their hearts a little more whole. Yet there were still awkward pauses, when they would blush and feel sheepish while looking around to see if anyone was spying on them.  Horace wondered if he should tell Anduin how he felt. Then he would promptly chicken out with the inward excuse that it was ‘too early.’

Meanwhile, Anduin’s usual knack for conversation would kick in and he would find another topic.  Yet his body language betrayed that he, too, wanted to say more.

Horace finally met his eyes.  “Are you okay? I mean, are you better, at least?”

Scratching the back of his head, he nodded.  “I’m getting there. I’ve accepted what happened, even if the sadness still lingers.  I can’t thank you enough for helping me.”

“Hey, I’m happy to help,” Horace said, and dammit if he didn’t mean every word.

There was another lull, then the priest took a deep breath.  “Saskia told me about Tei.”

His heart sank.

“Horace, what happened was the farthest thing from your fault.”  Anduin shifted his position so that he fully faced him. “You’re such a kind soul; I knew from the moment we met that you could never cause anything like that.”

Color suffused his face.  “Anduin…”

“Maybe it’s the assassination attempt talking, but--”

“The what!?” he squawked.

Anduin smacked his forehead.  “Crap! That’s right, you were in your room.  Light, I’m so sorry; there was a dreadlord, but everything is fine now, I killed it.”  His whole face was crimson. “It started me thinking, you know, time is meant to spent with people you care about.  And, well, I care about you. A-a great deal, actually.”

Horace’s heart was in his throat, and he wanted to run away in terror and laugh until he felt sick all at once.  He hardly realized he was rigid as a stone in his anxiety.

“You’re so genuine, Horace; moreso than anyone else I have ever met.  Your spirit and compassion shine so bright, and your eyes are so dark and gentle, and…”  He balked, gulping. “I’m sorry, I know I’m rambling, I was hoping I could make you feel better--”

Without even thinking, he took Anduin’s hand in his, leaning a little closer and grinning like a fool.  “You did.” Seeing his face light up, he added, “And I care about you, too. I care about you a lot.”

They held gazes, rabbit-hearted but so, so happy.  Finally, Anduin asked in a near-whisper, “Is this the part where we kiss?”

Doing his very best to make it seem like his brain did not just fly the coop, he replied, “I have no idea.”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Absolutely.”

The two leaned in closer until their noses bumped.  They giggled like schoolboys and tilted their heads enough that the gap closed.  It was a chaste kiss, but nevertheless Horace wished it would never end. Anduin’s lips were a cozy fire after a run through the rain, and his hands were clammy, but, then again, so were Horace’s.  When they broke apart, they remained close, smiling and blushing as little fits of jubilant laughter bubbled up.

“Light, I was so nervous to say anything,” Anduin admitted.

“Me too,” Horace assured him.  “I’m glad we did.”

He pressed his body close as the last few rays of sunlight sank beneath the waves of the Great Sea.  There they remained into the night, until the chill and their own sleepiness forced them indoors. Slowly, reluctantly, they walked the halls of the inner keep, stopping just outside the guest room Horace shared with Saskia.

This time, their kiss was a tad smoother, with Anduin leaning down to press their lips together while Horace rose up to the balls of his feet.

“Sleep well,” Anduin told him.

He echoed the sentiment, opening the door behind him.  “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've pretty much had sufjan stevens, the irrepressibles, and troye sivan on repeat because it's pride month and HANDUIN IS CANON KING.


	22. It's a Gemini Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalie one-shots a dungeon boss.

It felt strange to return.  Yet Natalie was determined to speak with her mentor again, hopeful that the truth was not as bad as Khadgar said.  Saskia’s pep talk and her own meditations had helped ease her trepidation, but she still felt her heart flutter knocking on the door.

Jaina’s face flooded with relief as soon as she laid eyes on her.  “Oh, Natalie,” she exhaled, “thank the Light. I had no idea where you went… where did you learn to encrypt your teleports?”

The grimoire she had stolen contained the spell, actually, but she hadn’t shown anyone out of concern that it would be confiscated.  There was still a massive wealth of information for her to pour through. Shrugging, she said, “I, um, I picked it up somewhere. Can we talk?”

Nodding, the archmage wordlessly invited her inside.  Once in the parlor, tea was offered, but Natalie declined.  There were too many butterflies in her stomach at the moment.  Both women sat in chairs across from each other.

“Did Khadgar, um, did he tell you what he told me?” Natalie prompted.

Jaina shook her head.  “He only said that you had become upset after--”  She cleared her throat, taking a deep breath. “I need to apologize to you, Natalie.  I’m not myself; I know that affects you. Everyone.”

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Natalie’s gut.   _ She’s going to send me back to Dalaran _ , she thought.  Anxiety made her fidget despite herself.  “I don’t understand,” she said.

“Tell me what happened?  Between you and Khadgar, I mean,” Jaina prompted.

Natalie swallowed hard, then nodded.  “He told me that-- that I was meant to help you deal with the loss of Kinndy.”

The archmage’s eyebrow shot up.  “That’s what he told you? Oh, that absolute idiot!”  She sighed. “Natalie, I’m going to give you some advice: don’t listen to Khadgar.  Ever.”

She was more confused than ever.  “Then I’m not meant to…?”

“No.”

Natalie’s face went hot, and she crossed her arms across her chest, shifting her gaze downward.  “I feel a bit stupid right now,” she groused.

“You shouldn’t,” Jaina insisted.  “I think about Kinndy every day. I wish more than anything that I could have saved her.  But when I chose you as my new apprentice, it was because I saw massive potential, much of which you were already beginning to fulfill.  I knew that if I could get you outside the confines and the rules of the Kirin Tor, you could become very, very powerful. I only needed to give you a little nudge in the right direction.”

Stunned into silence, she tried to search her mentor’s expression for any sign of dishonesty, but found none.  The tension in her shoulders melted, and she felt her eyes misting over. “I’ll make you proud,” she finally said.

“You already have.”  On the coffee table between them was a map, which Jaina unrolled to reveal the layout of some sort of building.  “And, if you’re up for it, I do have another assignment for you.”

She grinned.

*

Horace was walking on a trail of sunshine and rainbows.  Hell  _ yes _ he had his first boyfriend now, and he was loving every second of it, of him, of everything!  Although he had had to return to the Broken Shore, he had received a wonderful sweet goodbye kiss and promise to write often.

The drastic change in his overall mood was quickly picked up on by the rest of the Legionfall, making more soldiers feel at ease coming to him with their problems.  Word of his incident with the squabbling gnome and goblin had spread like wildfire, keeping people wary of his service for a few days. He had made sure to buy both of them drinks and apologize after his return.  Thankfully, they had been understanding.

By the end of the week, however, the armies of Legionfall would be mounting an assault on the Tomb of Sargeras; tensions were growing so thick Horace could have cut them with a knife.  With increased anxieties came more spats between factions, giving him more than enough work in the meantime. He himself would not be a part of the assault. He had sighed with relief upon hearing the news, not sure if he could handle something like that.  The Burning Legion seemed to be doubling up on the amount of demons they were sending through the tomb’s portal, as attacks on Deliverance Point were getting more frequent. Patrols either came back bruised and battered with demons hot on their heels… or not at all.  It made his stomach turn to wonder what had become of them.

The last thing he was expecting from that week was for Natalie to show up, or Saskia and Darcy.  The mage was her usual thoughtful and energetic self, scanning a small map. When she happened to glance it, she rolled the parchment back up and stashed it away, face brightening.

“Horace, there you are!” she called.  “We could use your help with something.”

“Does it involve leaving Deliverance Point?  Cuz I kind of can’t do that right now,” he replied.

“More complaints?” she teased, elbowing him gently.

He shrugged.  “I don’t mind so much.  Work is work. People are just nervous; it looks like we’ll be mounting an assault on a key section of the Tomb of Sargeras soon.”

“Oh, wow, already?”  Her brows drew closer together.

Nodding, he added, “I’ve been told to stay here while the Legionfall attacks.  If it’s successful, we’ll have a solid foothold for the siege. If not… I guess we’ll at least have made a dent in their forces.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for the former,” Natalie said, and Saskia echoed the sentiment.

“Much obliged.”  He gestured to the map container at her hip.  “What are you guys up to?”

Saskia’s expression morphed into something more sly.  “We’re going to rob a temple.”

“Thank you, Saskia, for that gross oversimplification,” Natalie said, rolling her eyes.  “Lady Jaina wants me to retrieve texts and artifacts from the Cathedral of Eternal Night.  With all the demons and fighting going on, there’s a good chance things will be destroyed otherwise.”

That made sense.  “I’d like to help, but I’m needed here,” he explained.

Natalie waved a hand.  “Oh, don’t worry, we understand.  There’s always next time.”

Now it was Horace’s turn to look sly as he grinned and brushed a lock of hair to the side.  “By the way,” he said, not even trying to suppress the giddy sensation bubbling up in his chest, “I kissed him.  _ Twice. _ ”

“Shut the front door!” Natalie exclaimed.

“Horace the loverboy!” Saskia cheered.  She looped an arm around his shoulders, giving him a friendly jostle.  “Come on, tell us everything.”

*

“You know, this could be a good thing for us,” Natalie mused, tapping her finger against her chin.

Saskia kicked her pebble a few more feet in front of her.  “What do you mean?”

“If we were this successful playing matchmakers for Horace and Anduin, imagine what we could do for other people.”

The fiery-haired rogue looked  _ very _ intrigued by this idea.  “I do like to meddle…”

“Who should be our next targets?” Natalie wondered.

“Tess and Lorna?”

She shook her head.  “I have a feeling they’re doing just fine without our help.”  For a moment, she chewed on her lip, thinking, before she lit up.  “But we’re not even done meddling with Horace and Anduin, are we?”

Saskia turned her attention away from the pebble.  “Go on.”

“There’s so much more we need to do!  Think about it: people are going to start offering up their noble-born daughters now that he’s of age.  And we  _ know _ Genn is going to want him married off as soon as humanly possible, considering he’s the only viable heir to the throne,” Natalie explained.

A smile split Saskia’s face, and her eyes narrowed.  “We’re going to kill Genn,” she supplied.

“Um, no.”

“Dammit.”

“But I believe it is in our best interests to protect this budding, saccharine romance from any soul-sucking compulsory heterosexuality, and to do so to the best of our abilities,” Natalie continued, a sentiment that Saskia readily echoed.

It wasn’t long before they reached the Tomb of Sargeras.  Procuring her map again, Natalie tried to pinpoint exactly where they were in relation to the cathedral’s entrance, humming thoughtfully.  “Okay, I think I know where we’re going now,” she declared.

“Lead the way.”

_ Okay, Rashid,  _ she thought to herself.   _ You’re going into a place infested with demons.   _ She gesticulated quickly, and a thin arcane aura shimmered around her and Saskia for a moment before fading. The ward would keep them safe in case of any surprise attacks.

_ You’re going into a place infested with demons, but Lady Jaina is confident that you can handle it, so you obviously can.   _ A wand or a staff would have made her magic more focused, but without a foci, her magic reached farther, did more damage.  It would be useful considering the amount of enemies they would likely attract. No doubt Saskia’s smoke grenades were more useful against nightborne than demons.

Darcy was able to fly them up to a window which, if the map was correct, would drop them down into one of the Cathedral of Eternal Night’s libraries.  A simple scrying spell told her that the main floor, directly below their feet, was swarming with demons. They would have to be quiet if they didn’t want to become mince meat.

She peeked through the window, counting ten dreadguards in total.  A ball of arcane energy expanded in her hand, crackling and sizzling.  She took one step forward and flung it at the closest demon like a baseball while she descended to the floor.  Behind her, Saskia let out a whoop as it landed square in the dreadguard’s face. Her girlfriend surged past her, unsheathing her blades, and launched herself at another one, slicing and dicing with practiced ease.  At some point, Natalie really wanted to study the Dreadblades.

Extending her arms above her head, the opened them in an arc, generating a blast barrier that radiated outwards to stun approaching enemies.  “Be careful with the books!” she called to Saskia.

The rogue’s current target toppled to the ground, and would have flung her from its head had she not leapt on top of the nearest bookcase.  From there, she leaped at the next one, narrowly avoiding its scimitar. “Roger that!” she returned, burying one of the Dreadblades into the dreadguard’s chest.  She planted her feet on the demon as it fell backward, rolling with the impact and throwing a dagger into another’s eye with a flourish.

Meanwhile, Natalie was busy trying not to let two more demons back her into a corner.  She wanted to reserve her mana for when she needed to get all these tomes and artifacts safely into her bag, but begrudgingly admitted that her safety was more important than books.  If only the window had been big enough for Darcy to fit through and help. Wait, scratch that, he would have definitely destroyed everything in the room. Proto-drakes were a double-edged sword if there ever was one.

She summoned an arcane lance on either side of her, digging her heels into the ground and sending them singing into the dreadguards.  Their bodies thundered to the ground, and the space became quiet save for her and Saskia’s panting.

They high-fived as Natalie slung her bag over her shoulder and onto the ground.  “Let’s get these bad boys and get out,” the mage declared, and began guiding the contents of the room into her bag.

Unfortunately for them, the silence did not last for long.  It began as distant footsteps, so heavy that the ground trembled.  Saskia readied her blades again and assumed an offensive stance.

“Looks like we’ve got more company,” she said.

“Great,” Natalie groaned.

The footsteps grew louder and faster, and both of them braced for impact as a sloshing, fel-scarred gut, attached to a nasty behemoth body, suddenly came into view.

“Thrashbite gonna mess you up!”

Natalie balked when she saw the demon burst into the room, cracking the large arched door frame.  Several rows of gleaming fangs jutted out from its underbite.

Behind her, she could hear Saskia say, “Uh oh.”

Thrashbite roared and charged at Natalie.  She yelped in surprise before immediately casting a blink spell, sending her back a safer distance, but the demon didn’t stop.  To her horror, it used its gore-covered cudgel to decimate the bookcase standing between it and her. Books and scrolls were sent flying, many of them visibly damaged.

Her eye twitched.  “That,” she whispered, raising her arcane-shrouded hand, “was  _ ten thousand year old lost knowledge, you moron! _ ”  Her voice rose with each word as she hurled a massive arcane sphere at the demon.  She had aimed high, hoping to hit its chest. Instead, the giant swirling globe collided dead-on with Thrashbite’s face.  The head, brains and all, exploded with a sickeningly fleshy sound that made her stomach turn. As the rest of its body collapsed, she screwed up her face and leaned away.

When she glanced over to Saskia, she found her looking more excited than she thought was reasonable.  The rogue hurried over to Natalie and pulled her into a kiss before she could ask why.

“Babe, that was… fuck, that was so fucking cool!”  She pulled back, still holding Natalie’s face in her hands with wide eyes and a wider grin as she bounced on the balls of her feet.  “Can we make out later?”

“It’s not a worst idea you’ve ever had,” she admitted.

*

Horace had no idea what he was technically supposed to be doing.  Yes, he was always supposed to be on standby to resolve arguments.  He was also on guard duty half the time, and occasionally he did scouting missions.  Eventually he decided that he was an unofficial soldier who also listened to endless bitching by an endless number of people.  At least he was getting paid. He still sent every copper back home to his family.

From his post upon the ridge of Deliverance Point, he could see Darcy swooping in for a landing, and waved to Saskia and Natalie as they dismounted.  They waved back before dashing off, hand in hand.

“I’ve been told you settled very well into your new accomodations.  A relieving development, I must say.”

A bit startled, Horace turned to see who had addressed him.  “Archmage!” he said, surprised, then bowed. As much as he could have bowed in full plate, anyways.

He waved a dismissive hand.  “You can just call me Khadgar.”

Curiosity egged him into asking, “How was it relieving?”

“Well, you are very young, and it’s a draining task.  But you were stated to have potential, and there was no one else we asked who wanted to,” the archmage explained.

So he had been their last choice.  Oh well, something was better than nothing.  “I’m honored to have been chosen. I want to take it as seriously as possible.”

“Oh, I believe you.  I’ve been told you were one of the king’s personal surveillance agents before this.  That’s quite a job for someone your age.”

“I knew someone,” he replied, hoping the topic wouldn’t be pressed further.

It was.  “Are you from one of the noble houses of Stormwind?”

“Westfall, sir.  My parents are farmers.”

Khadgar hummed lowly.  “There’s a place that’s seen hardship since before I was born,” he remarked.  “I’ve been told things are no better, especially since the Cataclysm.”

_ Yeah, everything’s gone to shit _ , he thought.  Out loud, he said, “We’re a hardy bunch.”

That drew a chuckle from the archmage.  “No doubts there.” Stroking his chin, he added, “Still, the question remains of how you came into the job.”

A small sigh whooshed out through Horace’s nose.  “I met her and her partner while I was a paladin squire.  She never struck me as the type who would have asked the king before hiring me.”   _ The king that also happens to be  _ my _ partner _ , he mused, and the thought made his cheeks color a little.

“A paladin spy!  I like the sound of that,” Khadgar declared.  He arched an eyebrow. “But I didn’t think squires were just allowed to leave the order.”

His stomach flip-flopped in a fit of anxiety.  “I… Um, I, well you see, I was… askedtoleave.”

To his ultimate bewilderment, Khadgar actually  _ laughed _ .  “Oh, those stuffy old codgers will use any excuse to flex their authoritative muscles.  Glad it was you, though; you’re doing a bang-up job keeping good morale amongst the troops.”

His mouth kept opening and closing as he racked his brain for some sort of response.  Finally, he came up with, “Thanks?”

“I think that this job will prove much more exciting than shining saddles or scrubbing armor.  I’ll be sure to put in a good word with some of my colleagues to get you some steady work once this is all over.”

Horace wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> battle for azeroth is coming and this def isn't going to be finished before launch but i'm making it a goal to finish parts 2 and 3 before the end of 8.1


	23. What Are You Doing In My Swamp!?

The siege of the Tomb had begun.  Horace stood off to the side as Khadgar, Maiev, and Illidan delivered a rousing speech to inspire the troops, but he could see from all the shifting gazes and fidgeting that people were anxious.  He did his best to look official and confident, holding his head high and clasping his hands behind his back. In truth, he was just as nervous, despite not even being a part of the invasion. So much was at stake.  So many lives.

After the speech, Velen and a few of his best anchorites performed a mass blessing.  Breathing deep, Horace let his eyes slide closed as the Prophet’s soothing Light washed over him.  The bruises and scrapes of the past few days faded, the soreness in his muscles left, and he felt his anxiety ease.

He had been assigned to a much different task, along with about fifty others.  The Burning Legion wasn’t just attacking the Broken Shore. Reports of demon activity were cropping up all over Azeroth, and Horace, the mediator, was going to keep the task force from starting another faction war while everyone else was busy with the Tomb.  Hopefully the job would not be as monumental as it sounded.

As troops began to march down the hill, Maiev called for the task force to gather around outside of the command center.

“Reports have come in from Azsuna.  Two of the warmages will open the portal for you.  After that, it’s up to you. For Azeroth!” she barked, and everyone snapped to attention to echo her.

Stepping into a portal was still a disorienting experience for Horace, as evidence by how he staggered about like a drunk for a few moments after exiting the swirling, twirling vortex.  While regaining his balance, he groped behind him for his sword and shield, unsheathing them and nearly decapitating one of his fellow soldiers in the process. He yelped an apology as the soldier rushed by.

Sure enough, there were plenty of attacking demons.  They were swarming a enormous yet decrepit stone structure in the middle of a lake.  Fel bombs rained down from a Legion ship hovering directly above. From his vantage point across the water, Horace couldn’t see the defending forces, but something was clearly there, as demons were falling.

When they came to the shoreline, they found that there were no boats, and no bridge in sight.  Cursing their luck, Horace was about to suggest that they somehow create a bridge. A death knight stepped in front of his before he could get the chance, and he had to suppress a shiver at the chill emanating from them.

“Your time to shine, Thassarian,” the human’s counterpart chimed, his long elven ears twitching in his smugness.

Giving a good-natured harrumph, he cocked his arm back, then thrust it forward.  Ice erupted from the water and rocketed to the other side of the lake, some half-mile away.  Horace wished one of the shamans had done it instead; he didn’t enjoy the idea of slipping and falling into the lake.  Beggars couldn’t be choosers, however, so he kept quiet and followed the two death knights across.

The pace was set at a steady jog and, thankfully, no one slipped in the five minutes it took to reach the other side.  Their route gave the demons ample time to notice them coming and form a blockade. Horace decided that the best course of action was to just keep his shield up and plow through the crowd, which was exactly what he did.  His sword was secondary to this maneuver, coming into play only once he had bowled over two felguards and a small army of imps.

The drawback was that his back was eventually turned to the attackers.  In that split second before he turned around, one of the imps leaped up and clung to the back of his breastplate, gnawing and scratching at the metal.  Letting his sword go, he reached back and pulled the little creature over his head. Once he faced the lake, he let it go, swinging his leg forward and punting the demon as hard and far as he could.  Its high-pitched scream faded into the distance, cutting off completely when it hit the water.

“Champions!  Thank Elune you’ve arrived!”

Horace turned to see what at first he thought was an oblong blob.  When it got close enough, however, he saw that it was actually a person, a night elf clad in flowing robes.  He vaguely wondered how many specific groups of elves existed in the world. This particular elf was near-transparent, their outline shimmering in the sunlight.  He wagered that they would be much easier to make out at night.

“The demons are relentless; they began their assault of the academy around midnight and haven’t let up since,” the figure continued, ears pinned back in distress.  “I feared my letter would not reach you in time.”

A mage stepped up, her tabard distinguishing her as an archmage of the Kirin Tor.  “We’ll do whatever we can to help, Farondis. Nar’thalas Academy will not fall,” she assured him.

“Some of them managed to get inside.  We need people to go after them who won’t damage the relics contained within.  My Nightwatchers will guide you,” Farondis explained.

“Roger that.  Rogues, mages, get in there and flush ‘em out; the rest of you form up with the Nightwatchers and don’t let any more across the lake.  Shamans, keep the sea giants at bay,” the archmage ordered. “Move out!”

Horace stuck close to the paladin champions, feeling a rush of glee at the chance to do battle alongside the famed Justicar Celeste.  She did not charge headlong into the fray like Horace, choosing instead to hold back and throw down a circle of consecration. As he rushed through it, he felt his spirits lift and his body sing with the Light, entrusting him as a bastion of justice.  And right by Horace’s side, cutting down demons with such grace and agility that he may as well have been made of water, was a blood elf he didn’t recognize. He  _ certainly _ recognized the blade gleaming in his hands, however.

_ The Ashbringer!  That’s the fucking Ashbringer!! _ he thought, and nearly ran face-first into a dreadguard’s halberd in his distracted state.

The elf blocked the blade from him with his world-renowned sword, and Horace stared at it in wide-eyed glee.

“Yes, it’s the Ashbringer!” the elf groused.  “Now get killing!”

Horace’s focus snapped back to the real world and he thrust his sword into the belly of the beast, allowing the elf to parry the halberd and deliver a fatal blow.  The demon’s blood boiled upon contact with the Ashbringer’s edge. Pushing aside his sheepishness, he planted himself deeper in the fray and started to hack and slash at any demon that came close enough.

Eventually, they made their way to the blockade that the archmage had been talking about.  More translucent elves held the line by the skin of their teeth, unable to beat back the attackers as more and more were sent down.

The elf wielding Ashbringer snarled in frustration.  “Dammit, we’re never going to succeed like this.” Turning to the white-haired archmage, he yelled, “Modera, we need you to teleport us to that ship!”

Roughly half of their fighting force vanished in a swirl of blue light.  Horace was glad not to be among them, his adrenaline spiking as he thought of the horrors that surely lurked in the floating fortress.  His only goal now was to keep the demons from overrunning the academy and destroying everything inside. This was a battle of endurance, one that he would not win if he let himself get caught up in anxieties and what-ifs.

But there were  _ a lot _ of demons.  Too many for their little fighting force of around a hundred.  He was cutting down demons left and right but it just wasn’t enough; even with the assault of the Tomb of Sargeras in progress it seemed that the Burning Legion had a never-ending supply of soldiers to send their way.  His ability to call upon the Light faltered as his energy ebbed away, his chest heaving and sweat flying off his matted hair with every turn of his head.

Then, by some miracle of the Light, there was an explosion high overhead.  Modera raised her hands and belted out an enchantment, bringing the people she had sent up back down to the ground just as another blast buckled the hull’s metal and split the ship in half.  More and more explosions were going off as the two halves fell, fracturing the massive structure into easier-to-manage pieces.

“Everyone, on me; form a barrier!” Modera barked.

Horace dispatched enough demons to clear a path before hurrying to her side.  Calling upon the Light once more, he focused on sending his energy to Modera instead of an opponent.  From the staff she held high overhead came a beam. It surged skyward and blossomed into a gigantic bubble, shielding both the academy and the people defending it.  The elves lent their own strength, maintaining the shield’s integrity as thousands of tons of shrapnel rained down upon the land. The sheer power being generated was blinding, and he squeezed his watering eyes shut and dug his heels into the swampy ground.

When the ground stopped trembling, he finally dared to crack open an eye and look.  Modera slowly dissolved the barrier, allowing everyone to end their streams of power at a safe pace.  Horace let go of his connection to the Light and the archmage, gasping and trembling from exhaustion. He gaped at his surroundings, trying and failing to find any trace of the onslaught they had faced.

He let out a breathy laugh.  They had just vaporized a demon army.   _ Nice _ .  Up ahead, Modera was being eased onto the ground by Justicar Celeste and another paladin.  Her face was pale and clammy as he staggered over to her, taking a knee and asking, “Can I help?”

“Good of you to offer, Horace, but it’s alright,” Justicar Celeste assured him.  “She just needs a decent meal and rest.”

_ She knows my name! _  “Glad to hear it,” he panted, beaming.

“I think we could all use that,” remarked a heavily-armored dwarven warrior.  He leaned on his axe on a few moments before relenting, the axe sinking into the loam and sand.

“I am more than happy to accommodate that, Champion.”

Farondis strode up to them, not a hair out of place.  Horace figured that it had something to do with the lack of opacity.

“My palace is not far from here.  There will be more than enough space to shelter you all until you recover.  Your efforts saved Azsuna from destruction, and for that I owe you a debt,” he declared.

Modera slurred something along the lines of, “Oh, it was nothing,” as her head lolled onto Justicar Celeste’s shoulder.

“If you would please hold still for a moment, I can teleport you there.”  With a flourish of his hands, Farondis blurred the world around them.

Horace was still kneeling, but it didn’t keep his head from spinning.  He nearly fell over getting to his feet, leaning against a wall for support.  “Woah, dizzy,” he mumbled.

In his mind, he had expected the palace Farondis spoke of to be a grand thing, but the reality was not much better than the academy.  It was a structure that had definitely seen better days, vines growing all throughout the crumbling stone. But it was a roof over his head and he had been promised food, so he kept his thoughts to himself and took a deep breath to clear his head.

“Need a hand, laddie?” the dwarf asked.

He gave him a thumbs up.  “I’m good, thanks.” Deciding the ground was a safer place to be, he flopped back down, legs splayed out in front of him and head tilted back against the wall.  He was drenched in sweat and feeling absolutely disgusting for it, but he needed a few more minutes to muster the energy to go for a dunk in the lake.

Many others had the same idea, finding available chairs or benches to sit and catch their breath on.  Except for the death knights, who looked as if they could yet run ten miles. The one benefit of necromancy.  Horace felt a tad sacreligious for even thinking it.

Farondis was summoning what Horace presumed to be his staff, filling them in on the details then sending them on their way.  Some set about providing food and water--or wine, which quickly turned into a popular choice--or setting up places to rest for the night.  Having already resigned himself to sleeping on the bare ground for the night, Horace was surprised to be handed a thick, soft bedroll.

His first instinct was to flop over and use it as a pillow, but he restrained himself, knowing that if he fell asleep in his armor he was definitely going to regret it.  The food and water that he was given were devoured in a matter of minutes.

The dwarven warrior, who had decided to sit next to him, nodded.  “Yer impressive,” he remarked.

Horace tried not to spit out his water as he laughed, finally managing to swallow it.  He coughed, a bit sheepish.

Their first victory as a task force.  It felt good. Despite the close call, it was a good start, hopefully one that would send a strong message: that Azeroth was going to kick the Burning Legion’s ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really glad we got a swamp zone in legion because that meant i had a good excuse to use this chapter title.


	24. Sand

Sand.  It was everywhere; in his boots, in his chainmail undershirt, in his hair, in his plate armor, up his nose and in his ears.  Horace decided that he did not like sand and, subsequently, Tanaris. Yet the Burning Legion had decided to launch an attack here of all places, so he had followed.

According to Archmage Modera, the Legion was here to a place called the Caverns of Time, the primary home of the bronze dragonflight.  Horace had never met a dragon before. He had read about them in books when he was little, fantastic tales of the brave knight who vanquished the evil, gold-hoarding dragon who was holding a princess hostage.  Hopefully the real deal didn’t have as much of a taste for human flesh as the stories claimed.

Currently, the task force was outside Gadgetzan.  While ranged combatants had taken to the city’s ramparts, Horace and the other melee fighters were on the ground.  He cursed the Legion again and spat out more sand that the battle had kicked up, then impaled a felguard in the thigh.  At his side was a Highmountain tauren, one of roughly fifteen who had been sent by their chieftan to aid the Armies of Legionfall.  She lunged forward and thrust her spear into the demon’s chest. One of her large, powerful hooves followed through to kick it back into the fray, sending two more demons tumbling to the ground.  Horace and the tauren were quick to rush over and finish them off before they could regain their footing.

Besides the tauren, Highmountain had sent drogbar, a race of cave-dwelling, shamanistic people twice as large and thick as their horned counterparts.  They were the perfect fighting force for this kind of terrain, careening through the earth and bursting out amongst a throng of demons hurling huge boulders and bashing heads in.  It was a devastatingly beautiful thing to watch.

Today was thankfully turning out to be a much fairer fight than Azsuna.  Horace wondered if it was because there were no Legion ships in sight to teleport reinforcements.  Then he wished he hadn’t wondered that, because the words had hardly formed in his mind when one appeared on the horizon.

“Dammit!”  That was Dvalen Ironrune, the dwarven warrior Horace had managed to impress with his food inhalation skills.  “Someone launch me!”

A nearby troll warlock, Zubeka, cackled.  “Wouldn’t that be a sight?”

One of the drogbar erupted from the dunes not even twenty yards from Horace, snatching a felguard and proceeding to swing it around like a club while roaring with laughter.  Horace yelped and high-tailed it out of the way, a task made considerably more difficult by the fact that he kept sinking into the deep sand. Muttering oaths that would put a sailor to shame, he had barely established his new position when the drogbar ripped its impromptu weapon in half, splattering everyone nearby in gore.  The act earned them a well-deserved string of curses from the other soldiers.

“I will rain DOOOOOOOM upon you, you fat stupid rock!”

Horace barked a laugh at the mage Manastorm’s threat, knowing it to ultimately be empty.  The Kirin Tor had him on far too tight of a leash for anything to happen.

“Shut up little kobold-kisser,” the drogbar retorted, hurling one half of the demon carcass in the gnome’s direction.

Hacking and slashing his way through a group of eredar, Horace wracked his brain for a way to get up to that ship.  There were gyrocopters, but he knew absolutely squat about flying one, let alone maneuvering through the swarm of felbats guarding the structure.

Then, out of the blue, he saw them.  Six glinting, golden shapes had appeared high in the sky, weaving and bobbing around one another as they closed in on the Legion’s ship.  Others of the task force took notice as well, briefly pausing to regard and cheer for what Horace realized were six members of the bronze dragonflight.

The aerial fortress didn’t stand a chance against the combined might of the dragons.  Though preoccupied with the demons currently trying to cleave him in twain, Horace tried to watch as the hulking reptilians blasted the ship from all sides with their fiery breaths.  It began to tilt forward in a nosedive, the metal melting under the barrage, and a new problem arose: it was heading directly for Gadgetzan.

From inside the city, he could hear people screaming in terror.  His head whipped around as he tried to locate Archmage Modera, hoping that she would have everyone form a barrier like last week, but she was nowhere to be found.  The dragons were doing their best to turn the trajectory of the aerial fortress, but their efforts were proving futile as the ship gained more and more speed.

Upon the ramparts, he could see Millhouse Manastorm generating something big.  The swirling sphere generated great gusts of winds that pelted Azerothians and demons alike with flurries of fine-grained sand, so much that Horace had to slit his eyes and bring his shield up to protect his face.

“DOOOOOOOOOOOM!” the bearded gnome shrieked, and all that arcane energy was launched skyward, directly underneath the bow of the ship.  The collision caused an earth-shaking explosion that knocked Horace off his feet, but its purpose had not been to destroy.

The six dragons detached and flew a safe distance away as the explosion caused the bow to lurch upward, and everyone held their breath and prayed as it sailed over Gadgetzan, its vast bulk blocking out the sun while narrowly missing the city.  All the fighters lost their footing as the ship finally crashed into the ground, carving up a ditch as it slid across the desert and buried itself a quarter of the way into the nearby mountains.

For a few tense moments, there was silence.  Then everyone remembered that they were in the middle of a battle, and all hell broke loose.  With their transportation and reinforcements a smoldering wreck, the demons were rattled, their movements more desperate.  They knew that they were going to die, but they were going to take as many of Azeroth’s forces with them as possible. Too bad Azeroth’s forces weren’t going to let that happen.

Horace had to give the Burning Legion credit; when they wanted to put up a fight, they put up a  _ fight _ .  And in return, he was giving them all he had, throwing himself at opponent after opponent with reckless abandon until he was covered in a gritty mess of sand, gore, and sweat.  The only thing he heard over the pounding of his heart was the cacophony of demons in their death throes.

The scorching desert sun was still beating down upon them when it was finally over, as relentless as ever.  If he had to guess, he would say that the whole battle had taken a little under three hours. Years under the tutelage of the paladin order had given him stamina, strength, and discipline, but it couldn’t have prepared him for how exhausting war was.  With the brutal heat turning him into a walking slice of bacon, he trudged back into the city along with the task force.

Marin Noggenfogger, head honcho of Gadgetzan, was already waiting for them at the entrance.  “Zoo wee momma, you guys really get the job done! Need to hire me some bruisers like that,” he lauded.  He screwed up his face as the melee fighters came closer. “Um, you guys wanna shower or something?”

*

Despite being way, way too tired to clean his armor, Horace spent dinnertime straddling the bench with a fork in one hand and his breastplate in another, using his thighs to hold it in place while he scrubbed away all the questionable substances.  In the dull tavern light, the ram’s eyes glinted up at him. He couldn’t tell if they were judging him or not; it was probably just his brain playing tricks on him. Light, he could not wait to crawl into his bedroll and knock out.

Heavy fists slamming on the table startled him back to alertness.   _ Uh oh _ , he thought, scanning the crowded bar for the source of the noise.  He found it in the drogbar gazing balefully at one Millhouse Manastorm.  No doubt it was the same one that had slimed the gnome during battle. Sighing, he got to his feet, yawned loudly, and made his way to the table.

“You think you can just insult me like that?” the drogbar asked, tilting their head to the side.  “Do you even  _ lift _ , brul?”

“What does that even mean!?” Millhouse squawked incredulously.

The drogbar noticed Horace approaching.  “I don’t like this one, brul. I gotta fight him,” they declared.

Horace was certain that it would take all of two seconds before Millhouse was a smear on the floor.  His eyes went from the drogbar to the gnome, then just past him, to the elven ranger who was passed out at the table, drunk as a skunk.  A little lightbulb went off in his head as he turned back to the drogbar. “If I lift Halduron over my head, will you let this go?”

Their interest was immediately piqued, and they nodded.

Thassarian, his arm draped over Koltira, snickered.  “This I have to see.”

Now to see if this was actually a task he could accomplish.  He sized up Halduron, deciding that the easiest way would be to have one hand on a thigh and the other on his upper back.  He began by lifting up the blood elf bridal style, which proved relatively easy. The hard part was hefting all that dead weight over his head; Halduron hadn’t even stirred.  Gritting his teeth and grunting, he bent his knees and pressed upward with every ounce of strength he possessed.

It was probably a miracle of the Light that he managed to get Halduron even a centimeter above his head, but he was somehow holding the drunken ranger with shaking arms several inches past the tips of his hair.  He let loose a triumphant roar. The noise awoke his elven dumbbell, who in turn let out a cry of terror and began to flail. The drogbar slammed their fists against the table once more, wide-eyed and grinning from ear to ear as they roared in excitement.

Halduron’s wriggling proved to be Horace’s undoing, as he lost his grip on the elf and watched him slam the tavern floor.  A cheer went up amongst the tavern’s patrons. Unable to suppress his laughter, Horace took a bow. From their spot on the bench, Thassarian and Koltira raised their beers in salute.  Koltira in particular appeared to find Halduron’s misfortune amusing.

Horace retreated to his seat in the corner while the ranger was still trying to figure out what had happened to him, tapping two fingers against the side of his head as the drogbar called after him, “You the man, brul!”

All in a day’s work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spirit varian, sizing up horace: what are your skills?  
> horace: last year i defeated four god-like beings in, like, two months, and i can bench press an elf  
> spirit varian, wiping a tear from his eye: welcome to the family


	25. Take A Chance On Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABBA baby!

The moment that the task force received word that they were needed in the Hillsbrad Foothills, tensions between the Horde and Alliance champions skyrocketed.  In a way, it was understandable; Horace doubted that there was a more highly-contested piece of land in the Eastern Kingdoms than Southshore. Both factions went to great lengths to beat the hell out of each other for the blight-infested piece of land even in times of relative peace.  Although they were supposed to be focused on the Legion, people were undoubtedly going to have something else on their minds.

“It’s one of our less-than-stellar moments, I’ll say that much.”  That was Minerva Ravensorrow, a Forsaken death knight.

Horace was marching in front of her and a few other Horde, but dropped back to her side.  “I thought the Scourge was responsible for Southshore’s destruction,” he said.

“It was,” she explained, “but that was just the first incident.  Us Forsaken came back later with the Blight. I was with the Ebon Blade at the time, but I doubt that matters.  My people still did this.”

In the distance, Horace could see a dull, greenish glow.  He hoped that that wasn’t where the Legion was attacking. “Not the whole Horde though, right?”

She shook her head.  “Not the whole Horde.  But enough to leave a bad taste in a lot of people’s mouths.”

“Maybe they could stand to be reminded of the bad things we did.  Humans were responsible for the internment camps, after all,” Horace remarked.

“That is true.  But people don’t really like being reminded of their mistakes.  It can get you stabbed,” she replied.

“Speaking from experience?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Possibly.”

“You probably deserved it.”

Both of them started at the remark.  “Huntsman, that’s not--” Horace began, but he was cut off.

“You may decry the actions of your ‘Banshee Queen,’ but you and your ilk serve her all the same,” Blake continued.

Minerva curled her lip up in disgust.  “I serve the Ebon Blade, you dolt,” she spat.

They had stopped walking at that point, and Horace made a point of stepping between the two before they got close enough to exchange blows.  “Enough,” he demanded. “We’re here to fight the Burning Legion, not get in cat-fights.”

Blake harrumphed.  “And what will the Horde do afterwards?  You can hardly expect them to  _ enjoy _ peace, let alone promote it.  Besides, I’m not just going to stand around and take orders from a boy half my age.”

“You don’t have to take them,” Horace retorted, feeling his color rising despite his best efforts to not look embarrassed.  “You can be discharged instead.”

He actually laughed at that.  “What are you going to do, tell on me?  Mother says it’s not nice to be a tattle-tale.  Don’t go around defending this scum if you know what’s good for you.”

“No one’s going to put  _ you _ in charge with that attitude, Blake.  Now shut up.” That, to Horace’s ultimate surprise, was Lord Jorach Ravenholdt.

What little he knew about Ravenholdt was from Saskia.  She claimed to have trained with him briefly on orders from one of her former bosses.  And by her account, which Horace found many willing to back up, he was not someone to be trifled with.

Blake rolled his eyes, but fell silent.  As he walked away, Minerva stuck her rotting tongue out at him and made a lewd gesture.

Horace jogged up to the greying lord.  “I appreciate the help; I wasn’t really sure what to do back there,” he said lightly.

“It is no bother.”

The tone boded no further comment, so he dropped back again.  He hoped that this didn’t mean he owed Ravenholdt a favor. He wasn’t ready for a life of crime yet.

“Infernal!”

Horace drew his sword and shield immediately, scanning the skies for any sign of an in-coming fireball as his heart pounded in anticipation.

“That be my infernal, idiot!”

He suppressed a groan and sheathed his weapons.  Up at the front of the group was Zabra from the priest order, bristling at one of the warlocks, Jubeka.  “Jubeka, can you tell your infernal to leave for a little while?” he asked with faux-amiability.

“I’m not gonna sacrifice my defenses to make Sparkles over here feel better,” the troll grunted.

“That thing’s gonna turn on you the moment you let your guard down,” Zabra insisted.  “Then it’s gonna get us all killed.”

“So don’t stand near it,” Horace replied flatly.

Both trolls cocked their heads to the side in confusion.

“Zabra, you stand on one side, Jubeka on the other.  Don’t even think about each other.”  _ Please let this work.  I’m so tired of telling these assholes to knock it off _ . _  It’s like herding cats _ .

They folded their arms across their chests, squaring each other up at their full heights and subtly flexing their impressive muscles.  Light, if Horace didn’t want to climb that like a tree. Should he have been thinking that if he had a boyfriend now, though?

He shrugged to himself and happened to glance to his left just in time to see a real threat hurtling towards them.  “Ah, shit!” he exclaimed.

Luckily, that was enough to get everyone’s attention.  There were about twenty felbats in total, and were unfortunately very good at not getting hit.  Horace stood his ground and waited until one got close before he thrust his sword upward into its slavering jowls, bringing the blade in a downward arc to slice through its face.

He whirled around as it came crashing down behind him and stabbed it straight through the back, then faced forward just in time to bounce another bat off his shield.  It paid to stay light on his feet with felbats; they were cunning beasts and their claws could definitely cut through his armor. A bolt of holy Light surged over his head and took care of one that was about to chomp him in half.  He gave a two-fingered salute to Zabra in thanks.

With their team of forty-five--they had had to bury several soldiers over the past two and a half weeks, not as notorious but nonetheless valiant--it didn’t take too long to defeat the wave of felbats.  In the distance, the task force could see the Burning Legion’s forces moving towards the town of Tarren Mill, the second most contested piece of land in the Eastern Kingdoms.

Horace’s shoulders slumped.  Of course there was a pit lord.  Why wouldn’t there be a pit lord.  Despite that, he raced down the hill towards the settlement with the rest of his crew.

At the town itself, there were already Horde soldiers defending the civilians.  Ravandwyr, being a Horde mage, knew the exact spell to open up a portal to the Undercity.  The Forsaken civilians dove through, eager to be out of the way of the Legion’s fury. No doubt the army on its own was going to do a tremendous amount of damage, but with the pit lord thundering towards them, Tarren Mill was toast.

A light bulb went off in Horace’s head.  He cut down the two eredar he was currently engaged with and then dashed inside the nearest building.  The structure was the only thing at least level with the behemoth; if he could get to the very top, he could strike a killing blow.

He was out of breath by the time he ran up all those stairs, sides heaving and throat bone dry, and found there was no latch on the window panes.  Letting out a frustrated groan, he took a step back and kicked the glass with his steel-toed boots. Hopefully the shards that flew out the window didn’t hit anyone on their way down.  He stepped out onto the little gutter, crouching as best he could in almost full plate. The pit lord’s back was to him. Perfect. He left his shield inside the building and launched himself off the roof with a courageous--at least, he hoped it sounded that way--war cry.

His sword impaled the pit lord right below the bottom of its skull.  It jerked and shuddered, subsequently causing Horace to lose his balance.  He held onto the sword even as his feet flailed around, trying to find purchase on its steep neck.  But when the pit lord gave one last roar of defiance and began to topple over, he found himself in a new predicament.  He screamed as he lost his grip and began to fall the hundred feet towards the ground.

Something yanked him by the shirt, making him vertical once more and sending him careening, still screaming, towards the task force, thus ending his brief moment of badassery.  The invisible hand pulling him came from Zabra, who was using the Shadow to yank him out of danger. And, as Horace barely had time to notice, right into the path of a certain troll warlock.

Both Horace and Zubeka turned to glare incredulously at the laughing priest as they untangled their limbs and got to their feet.  The former put his hand on the latter’s arm when he saw him starting to cast a felbolt.

“Don’t,” Horace warned.  “You have to be the bigger troll.”

Jubeka grumbled something under his breath, but complied.  Horace didn’t miss how he zapped Zabra in the butt when he thought he wasn’t looking, however.  He just rolled his eyes and let him have it. There were still demons to kill, after all. He picked up his sword and jogged back into the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm probably going to go back at some point and add a little more to this but i can't really think of a whole lot more to add. plus, in part 3 (one more chapter to go >B) ) there's going to be a lot of battle sequences and there's only so many ways to describe a battle before it gets repetitive. anyways enjoy!!


	26. Rested XP

It was equal parts relieving and anxiety-inducing to hear the arcane transmission from Archmage Khadgar.

“We have secured the Tomb.  However, at the very end of the assault, the Prophet Velen rushed through a portal which led to the Burning Legion’s flagship… and Kil’jaeden.”  The projection of Khadgar’s disembodied head, which was stored in a transparent orange sphere, went from forlorn to perky. “Well, wish us luck! And unless you all get any more reports of invasions, you’re welcome to take a rest period.”

Khadgar had an interesting way of coping with danger, Horace thought to himself.  It was unsettling to hear that the rest of the Armies of Legionfall would be facing Kil’jaeden himself.  He puffed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair as the message ended.

“Light, it’s really happening,” Arator said softly.  His ears were dropping, long golden brows furrowed. “They’re taking on Sargeras’s second in command.  I never thought I’d see the day.”

Lord Tyrosus clapped him on the shoulder.  “They’ll make it. These are some of the best soldiers equipped with the best weapons we’re sending after Kil’jaeden.  He doesn’t stand a chance.”

Arator managed a small smile.  “And then hopefully we can find my parents.”

It was difficult to tell with elves, but Horace would have guessed that Arator wasn’t more than ten years older than himself.  He had grown up never knowing his parents, only knowing that they were out there, somewhere, fighting the Burning Legion. An unimaginable burden to bear.  For Horace, being away from his parents for this amount of time was brutal. He was going to give his mom the biggest hug when he returned to Westfall.

“I can open up a portal to Dalaran,” Archmage Modera volunteered.  “From there, we can make use of the portal systems to get wherever we need to go.”

Many people tossed a thanks her way, some more genuinely than others.

“It’s been an honor serving alongside you all,” she added.  “Whatever happens in the coming days, we fought well. For Azeroth.”

“For Azeroth,” Horace echoed.  He made sure to say thank you for the portal as he stepped through and left Tarren Mill behind.

This time, Horace didn’t waste any time in the floating city, heading straight from the portal reception dias to the Silver Enclave.  It was a little easier to push aside worry over the Armies of Legionfall with the thought of a welcome back kiss from Anduin. And a shower.  He  _ really _ needed a shower.  He stepped through the Stormwind portal.

As he made his way down the Mage Tower’s winding ramp he wondered, not for the first time, why no one had deemed handrails a good idea.  If he hadn’t kept his eyes glued to the path in front of him, he definitely would have fallen off.

Being back in Stormwind finally allowed the knots in his muscles to undo themselves and a contented sigh to escape him.  It was good to be back walking along the cobblestone streets, with the sun shining just the right amount and a gentle breeze rustling his hair.  Seagulls were making their usual ruckus overhead, and the air was tinged with salt. He watched the citizens maneuver through the city, trying his best to avoid running into them as well.  One of the perks of wearing a suit of armor was that most gave him space.

The keep’s guards paid him no mind when he walked in and made his way towards the guests’ quarters.  When he emerged from Saskia’s room an hour later, clean and in his civilian clothes, he asked one of them after Anduin’s whereabouts.

“In the map room.  Unless it’s an emergency, you’ll have to wait.”

Which was fine by him; he could go find Natalie and Saskia in the meantime.  He could see Darcy’s bright blue bulk twirling about in the sky above Stormwind Lake.  Walking to the edge of the gardens, he used one hand to shield his eyes from the sun and the other to wave.  From atop Darcy, Saskia waved.

Horace reached their spot on the far side of the lake just as the red-headed rogue finished unsaddling her proto-drake.

“So, how’s soldier life?” she asked, patting the grass next to her.

He didn’t want his pants to get grass stains, so he just stood.  “Tiring. New battle almost every day and everyone on my team wants to kill each other.  But it’s good experience.”

“There’s a good way to look at it.”  She reached over to scratch under Darcy’s chin.  “You hear the news about Kil’jaeden?”

“They killed him already?” he gasped.

She shook her head.  “No, last I heard they were still engaged on the ship.”

His shoulders slumped.  “The wait’s killing me,” he sighed.

“Let’s hope it’s not killing our guys.”

“Saskia!” he cried.

“What?  Gotta deal with it somehow.”  Her gaze went past Horace and a lopsided grin split her face.  “Finally able to get away from your groupies, eh?”

Anduin chuckled as he approached.  “I have no doubt my advisors love you calling them that.”

Horace cocked his head to the side to regard his partner, unable to keep his heart from fluttering.  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he remarked.

The priest shifted closer to him, lacing their fingers together with a hesitant little smile.  He was pink from ear to ear and Light if it wasn’t the cutest thing ever. “I missed you, too. It’s good to have you back.”  Leaning down, he gave Horace a quick peck that made them both go scarlet.

“If you two get any sweeter, I’m gonna need my teeth yanked,” Saskia told them flatly.

“An unavoidable consequence,” Horace replied, waving his hand dismissively.  He turned his attention back to Anduin. “Any word from the siege?”

He shook his head.  “All we can do is sit tight and hope for the best.”

“Which we are all  _ totally _ capable of doing,” Saskia pointed out.

“We can spar,” Horace suggested.

She perked up at that, rocking onto her feet in a heartbeat.  “I am going to destroy both of you.”

Back in the keep’s armory, Horace and Anduin buckled on some training gear while Saskia browsed around for some daggers, hefting them and running through stances until she found two that suited her.

“Don’t you already have a ludicrous amount of knives?” Anduin asked.

“Twenty-three, and they’re mostly throwing stars and pocket blades,” she informed him.  “Not big enough for combat.”

It was, indeed, a ludicrous amount of knives.  “Where do you even keep that many knives?” Horace laughed.

“I have a lot of hidden pockets.  My hair tie also holds a gnomish lockpick in it.”

He nodded.  “Impressive.”

While Anduin went to his quarters to fetch Shaylamane, Saskia clasped Horace on the shoulder.  “Listen, I probably should have warned you about this earlier, but there’s no way you two are going to be common knowledge for a while.  Anduin deals with a lot of internalized homophobia, and I mean  _ a lot _ .”

He shrugged.  “I kind of figured.  I hadn’t told anyone else about us yet, anyways.  He didn’t seem that nervous earlier, though.”

“That’s because he knew no one else was around who would notice.”  She folded her arms across her chest. “He had a full-blown anxiety attack telling Nat and I he was gay.  Any mention of coming out officially has him scrambling to change the subject.”

Humming lowly, he chewed on his lower lip for a moment and digested the information.  “We’re both still pretty new to this… I’m not opposed to taking it slow and seeing where we end up.”

“Be prepared to go at a snail’s pace,” was all she said.

Anduin came back in the room with his father’s sword secured in its sheath.  “Ready when you are.”

Anduin’s sparring skills… were minimal at best.  Granted, he put in a solid amount of effort, but it was evident that he struggled to even maintain a balanced stance.  Horace felt a twinge of guilt every time he bested him. This was a man just not cut out for swords.

“I bet Natalie could enchant that to make it feel lighter,” he tried, but Anduin shook his head.

“I’ll get used to it,” he panted.  “I just need to keep practicing.”

“Have you ever considered using Fearbreaker instead?”  Surely the mace would be easier to beat people with. It would produce the same result.

“Seeing Fearbreaker wouldn’t inspire my troops like seeing Shaylamane would,” Anduin insisted.  He rolled his shoulders and squared up for another round.

Horace knocked him down in a hair under thirty seconds.  “That’s five seconds longer than last time,” he said. He extended a hand and helped haul him to his feet.  Thankfully, the training room floor had mats that made falling a little less painful. When they were at eye level, he leaned forward and gave Anduin an encouraging kiss that was eagerly reciprocated.

In the distance, they heard screams.

The trio bolted down the hallway towards the source of the noise, fearing an intruder.  Saskia flew past them, daggers in hand, and skidded to a stop on a balcony in one of the guest chambers, where a servant was clutching her chest and hyperventilating.  More cries of terror could be heard as people all throughout the keep were starting to see whatever it was the woman had. Horace’s heart was pounding in his chest as he and Anduin halted in the threshold and looked up in the sky.

It was a planet, all shades of sickly green and yellow, just… floating in the sky.  His shaky, clammy hand came up to cover his mouth as he stared at it with wide eyes; his other hand grasped Anduin’s tightly.  “Light, what is that?” he rasped.

After a moment, Saskia regained her composure enough to let out a tremulous laugh.  “Someone should… should really do something about that.” Her face was drained of all color as she and the servant leaned on one another for support.

There was silence as all three stared at her.  She sighed. “We’re someone, aren’t we?” 

“We’re  _ always _ someone,” Anduin managed.

She turned back to face the brand new addition to their solar system with misting eyes.  “We are so screwed.”

 

END OF PART 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm ignoring anduin rerolling his class for bfa because tank/healer couples are more powerful than tank/dps. also chronic pain and 70% of your right leg being wood would make fighting in full plate with a very large sword difficult, to say the least. thank you so much to everyone who keeps up with the story, you guys are the best!!! almost 900 of you have at least read the first chapter :,) if one of you was a blizzard university relations person feel free to hit me up at creativelycole.tumblr.com   
> and a special shoutout to chaddicusix who just makes my week with their wonderful comments!!!


	27. Dammit, Khadgar!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *minor emeto warning at the very beginning*

He had lost his lunch almost immediately after reading the missive.  It took him ten minutes to even glance out the bathroom door at where the parchment lay on the floor, watching him.  Waiting for him to accept what it said. He pulled his knees closer to his chest and pressed closer to the wall, arms wrapped around his legs.

 

_Esteemed Paladin Spy,_

_I hope you enjoyed your break.  Apologies for having to cut it so short, but I did as promised and put in a good word with my colleagues on your behalf, and they decided that your services will prove necessary during our voyage to Argus.  That’s the planet you see in the sky right now--feel free to blame Illidan, it’s his fault entirely._

_Please report to Stormwind Harbor at dawn on Monday, May 29th, where you will set sail for the Exodar._

_Sincerely,_

_Khadgar, Archmage of the Kirin Tor and 6th Councilman._

 

Dammit, dammit, dammit.  Maybe he was dreaming? A quick pinch of his wrist confirmed that no, he wasn’t, and his eyes stung.

The bedroom door creaked open; the absence of any other noise told him that it was Saskia.  He saw her pick up the missive and quickly skim through its contents.

“Thorim’s fat c- Horace?”  Her head swiveled around until she saw him, and she went from angry to sympathetic as she made her way over to him.  “Shit, dude,” she said, pulling him into a sidelong hug. “This… this is just… fuck. I’m not even sure if this is something you can say no to.”

His shoulders shook as he leaned into her and cried.

“It’s okay, man, you don’t have to be brave right now.  Just let it out; I got you,” she soothed.

“What am I gonna tell my family?” he whispered.

“I… I don’t know.”  After a moment, she sniffed.  “You could always say you’re getting revenge on the demons that took out your roof.”

He laughed wetly.  “My mom would kick Khadgar’s ass if she found out he’s the reason I’m going.”

“I’ll gladly join her.”

For a time, they were silent.  Horace appreciated that it was Saskia of all people who had found him.  His Helheim buddy wouldn’t judge him for feeling this way. Light, that had only been, what, six months ago?  It seemed like years. So much was happening so fast.

Finally, he said, “I’m going to write my parents.  If I go to Westfall and tell them in person…” He sighed.  “I don’t think I could bring myself to say goodbye.”

Saskia squeezed his shoulder.  “I understand.”

More silence.  Then, “Do you still have that camera?”

“Yeah.  You want it?” she asked.

“Just for the day.  I have a portrait of my family, but I’d like to take one of you and Natalie and Anduin with me.”

She offered him a small but sincere smile.  “Of course.”

*

He had three days to try and wrack his brain for a way to explain to his parents that he was going on what was possibly the most dangerous mission in living memory.  Fresh anxiety coursed through him every time he happened to look outside and see Argus looming in the sky. On Saturday, a whole hour passed by the time he took pen and paper to someone who was trained to be much better at important announcements.

Anduin was in his office, as usual, working his way through enough papers to choke a gryphon.  When he noticed Horace’s expression, his brows furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He shut the door, biting his lower lip as he held up the paper.  “I, uh, I’m trying to write a letter to my family in Westfall, but I can’t seem to find the words.”

“I see.  Well, what do you need to tell them?” he asked, pulling up another chair.

Taking a deep breath, Horace said, “I’m going to Argus.”

He almost knocked over his inkwell.  “W-when do you leave?”

“Dawn on Monday.”

There was a pause as Anduin digested the information.  Then he cleared a space on the desk and slid his quill and ink between them.  “Can I see what you have so far?”

“It’s just the greeting,” he admitted, setting it on the polished oak surface.

“That’s fine.”  The priest glanced at the names.  “Are Izzy and Maggie your sisters?”

He nodded.  “I’m the oldest, then it’s Izzy at fifteen, and Maggie.  She’s thirteen, bit of a wild child.”

“Do you all get along?”

“Eh, for the most part.  Being the oldest means that I get to be the ‘shining example’ by default.”  He puffed out a laugh through his nose. “Even when I most definitely wasn’t.  But it was kind of fun to rub their noses in it.”

“I’m sure they loved that,” Anduin teased.

“Oh, absolutely.”

He chuckled.  “Maybe you could dedicate a few sentences to each of them individually,” he suggested, bringing their conversation back to the task at hand.

Horace nodded.  “I like that idea.”

*

Before the sun even rose to bathe the city in its golden glow, Horace and Anduin were standing in an empty candle lit hallway, holding one another close and pressing bittersweet kisses onto each other’s lips.  The priest ran his fingers through Horace’s fluffy black hair still damp from the bath, working out all the tiny snags.

“You keep doing that and I just might blow off the mission,” Horace murmured, thoroughly appreciating the affection.

“An extremely tempting proposition.”

His hands came to rest on his partner’s shoulders.  “I’ll come back. It might take a while, but I will come back.”  He had to keep saying that, so that maybe he would believe it as well.  “And I promise to write often.”

“I’ll cherish every letter.”

They kissed one last time, long and slow.

“Don’t let anyone rope you into a betrothal contract while I’m gone,” Horace joked, giving a lock of long blonde hair a gentle tug in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“My heart is yours,” Anduin promised.

Saskia had updated Natalie on the situation Friday evening.  The two were standing at the entrance to the keep, grim and apprehensive.  They pulled him into a bear hug, one that Horace wondered if they would let him go from for a moment.

“Come back in one piece,” Saskia growled into his coat.  “Rualg nja gabor. Kill some demons for me.”

“If it gets too hairy, you can always bribe a mage to teleport you back to Azeroth.  Trust me,” Natalie whispered.

Horace smiled, pulling back from them and readjusting his pack on his shoulder.  “Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. I have a lot of weird dumb luck.”

“We’ll be praying that it comes through for you,” Anduin said.  “But please still try and keep yourself safe.”

“I promise.”

The four went in for one more group hug, and Horace had to fight to swallow the painful lump in his throat.  None of them said goodbye; that was too final, making it seem like Horace wasn’t coming back. He was, he had to believe that he was going to see everyone again.  He had come too far for anything less.

It was easy enough to distinguish which boat he would be taking upon reaching the docks.  The naval flagship was armed to the teeth, canons sticking out of every window. Deep blue sails were being unfurled by deckhands while their captain barked orders from the wheel.  Soldiers and champions of the Alliance were crowded on and around the vessel, awaiting the late arrivals. He took a deep, steadying breath as he approached the crowd, inclining his head respectfully.  To his surprise, the gesture was reciprocated by the champions. Maybe he was wanted on this mission.

On deck was Ranger General Vereesa Windrunner, her proud head held high and hands clasped behind her back.  Arator was standing at her side, and the two were chatting with Vindicator Boros and a group of 7th Legion marines.

Horace tried not to wobble as he walked up the gangplank, which was difficult, considering that it kept wobbling underneath him.  He let out a small sigh of relief when he reached the top and stepped off. Losing his balance and falling into the ocean didn’t seem like the best way to start his journey.

Vereesa called for everyone to board within the next five minute shortly after.  Unsure of where to put himself, Horace decided to just stand in the corner. He leaned against the rail and hoped that his legs would grow accustomed to the ship’s sway quickly.  His stomach wasn’t weak necessarily, but he also knew that his first time sailing was bound to make him at least somewhat seasick.

“Listen up everyone!”  That was the Ranger General again, standing near the mast on a raised dais.  “By the time I finish addressing you, we will have embarked from Stormwind. Thanks to the efforts of the 7th Legion battlemages, we will reach Azuremyst Isle in three weeks to the day, rather than six months.  Be aware of your surroundings; we are not stopping if you fall overboard. I understand your tension, and feel it as well. But understand that we are doing this not because it is easy, but because it is necessary.  We are striving to provide a world, a universe, in which none will have to know the oppression and devastation of the Burning Legion. We fight for the Alliance, and for Azeroth!”

With that, the anchor was hauled up out of the water, and the 7th Legion mages took up positions around the ship.  It lurched forward, clearing the harbor, but after that its speed began to increase, until Horace was convinced that ships were not supposed to go this fast.  Yet the mages seemed to be managing things well enough, and he trusted them not to kill everyone. The wind whipped through his hair, its salty tang refreshing and oddly calming.

And, just like Vereesa had stated, the journey took exactly three weeks.  Aside from the 7th Legion marines, each order had sent a contingency of soldiers to accompany their champions, most of which were on the other three ships accompanying the flagship, aptly named _Wind’s Redemption_.  Natalie had insisted that he bring two or three books with him for the journey, citing cabin fever, and he was immensely thankful she had.  Day to day, there wasn’t all that much to do, and the strategy book she had shoved into his pack proved an excellent way to pass the time. With the sun and the breeze, he could have easily slept most of the trip away.  He made up his mind on about the third day to remain in peak fighting form, however, and got groups of people at least once per day to spar on the main deck.

To his surprise, the one with the most anxiety over the voyage wasn’t himself, it was Arator.  When he wasn’t seasick, he was a nervous wreck. More than once, Horace heard him rambling to an empathetic Vereesa when everyone else was below deck sleeping.

“What if they’re dead?  What if they don’t like me?  What if they won’t accept me as their son?  What if--”

Vereesa had to actually clamped a hand over his mouth to shut him up.  “You need to relax, Arator. All this worrying is making you sick,” she insisted, but her voice was gentle.

Horace, lurking at the top of the stairs to get some fresh air, felt his chest tighten as he saw the elf’s ears droop and his face crumple.

“I know,” he choked out.  “I’m just scared.”

His aunt pulled him into an embrace, letting him cry on her shoulder.  “Me, too. But it’s going to be okay, I promise.”

He had gone back into the hold at that point.

The next morning, Azuremyst Isle was visible on the horizon.  It was a relieving sight, to say the least. Thisalee Crow of the druids was fit to be tied, taking to the sky in her flight form almost immediately and swooping around, cawing up a storm in her delight.

They docked within the hour.  Horace teetered down the gangplank again and had to use his sword like a walking stick as he readjusted to having solid ground underneath his feet.  The shaman Mylra chuckled and patted his arm.

“Ye’ll get used to it, laddie,” she assured him.

There was a serenity about the draenei’s island that he immediately picked up on.  A caravan awaited them in the grassy harbor, and it was then that he caught sight of the Horde.  They had already unloaded their ship some time ago and were heading towards the Exodar, the trip from Orgrimmar significantly shorter than the one from Stormwind.

All in all, there were roughly five hundred soldiers and thirty champions.  The demon hunters accounted for a hefty portion of the fighting force, which made the priests and paladins uneasy, as well as, well, everyone.  Except for the death knights, who seemed to find them amusing.

From the paladin order, there was Arator, Aponi Brightmane, Lothraxion, Lady Liadrin, and Delas Moonfang.  High Priestess Ishanah represented the priests, along with Zabra Hexx, Yalia Sagewhisper, Mariella Ward, and Natalie Seline.  Thassarian, Koltira, and Nazgrim were sizing up Zen’tabra, Sylendra Gladesong, Thisalee Crow, and Broll Bearmantle of the druids, who were grumbling about the “trophy” hunters Emmarel Shadewarden, Loren Stormhoof, and Rexxar.  Esara Verrinde, Ravandwyr, and their Arcane Destroyer were under the watchful eye of Meryl Felstorm. With a name like “Felstorm,” Horace had expected him to be a warlock instead of a mage.

The monks, Light bless them and their ability to get along with everyone, were Chen Stormstout, Taran Zhu, and Angus Ironfist.  They were chatting up the shamans Mylra, Farseer Nobundo, and Muln and Rehgar Earthfury.

All of the warlocks had made an appearance, and the only champions of the warrior order were Hymdall, Hodir, Thorim, and, of course, King Ymiron.  Horace wasn’t sure what he would have done if the former vrykul ruler had showed his face. Probably murder him. Or send for Saskia and let her murder him.  No doubt she would have hung his head above her hearth as a trophy and used the rest of him for target practice.

He was glad that there was a fairly even mix of Alliance and Horde champions.  It would keep both sides from feeling like one was overpowering them or that their leaders favored one faction over the other.  Which, he hoped, would keep some tension at bay.

The Exodar wasn’t far from where they landed, about a half mile or so.  Its exterior was absolutely spectacular, the otherworldly material radiating a soft violet glow.  The sight of it took Horace’s breath away; he wondered what it had looked like before it had crashed.  Supposedly, it can on the power of crystals of all things. He hadn’t the faintest clue how crystals had energy.  It was likely something overwhelmingly complex that Natalie would take great pleasure in studying.

Inside, it was even more awe-inspiring.  Those power crystals were everywhere, in all shapes and sizes.  The hum they emitted was low and relaxing. Horace closed his eyes and breathed deep, drinking it all in as the wagon rolled down the walkway.  When he did, however, he began to hear… something. It didn’t seem to be directed at him specifically, but rather everyone and everything. Its call resonated with something inside him; his own inner Light, he realized.

Vindicator Boros was wearing a knowing smirk.  “The naaru are singing. It is beautiful, no?”

His eyes widened to the size of saucers.  “That’s the _naaru_?” he breathed.

Boros nodded.  “Though it is unlikely you will see them, their presence will be felt by all today.  Even those, ah, less attuned to the Light.”

“Incredible.”  Horace leaned back against the side of the wagon, letting himself zone out and simply bask in their essence.

The caravan stopped at the bottom of the long, winding path down to the Exodar’s hull, and everyone proceeded on foot to a place Boros called the “Vault of Lights.”  Within the sanctum were translucent projections of various demons, with little placards on their pedestals that stated their name and rank within the Burning Legion. Some had been felled, some had not; Horace wondered if he should go around and read them, in case he found any on Argus.

Illidan Stormrage was there of course, standing adjacent to the Prophet Velen.  The draenei patriarch was channelling Light into a golden crystal object, bushy brows furrowed as he concentrated.  There was a shal’dorei that Horace didn’t recognize, and next to them was… uh oh. He very much doubted the Alliance would be pleased that Aethas Sunreaver had decided to tag along.

More draenei priests were gathering in a circle around the oblong crystal and infusing it until it was bursting at the seams with Light.  The trapezoidal panels on the floor rose inward, sides fusing to create a small raised platform.

“Many years have gone into this, our means of retribution,” the Prophet intoned.  “Step aboard the Vindicaar, champions, and take the fight to the Legion’s home world.”

Horace’s heart began to flutter.  This was it, then. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let anxiety bog him down.  If their mission succeeded, they wouldn’t just be ridding Azeroth of the Burning Legion.  No, this was going to liberate the entire universe. He closed his eyes and murmured a prayer.  In the distance, he could hear the naaru continue to sing. He stepped onto the platform.

When he dared to open his eyes again, it was because people were pushing him out of the cramped entryway that everyone was pouring into.  The Vindicaar, unlike the Exodar, had a dark luster in several shades of violet. Walking forward, he noticed that the ship was floating directly above the fallen draenei vessel, with Azuremyst Isle sprawled out below.  The picturesque view was provided by the massive window that curved around the whole front of the ship. There was a glowing console right next at the front, most likely the map table, where Velen, Illidan, Khadgar, and several of the more high-ranking champions were standing.  Horace made his way down the left of the arcing ramps towards them.

“Ah, I’m pleased you got my letter,” Khadgar said as he approached.

He inclined his head.  “I’m honored you thought of me,” he replied.  It was a fat lie, he wished Khadgar had forgotten about him, but he wouldn’t have shirked his duty.  He wouldn’t be a paladin of the Light if he did.

“Of course!  It’s nice not being the one to constantly take everyone’s complaints for once.”

 _Are you_ shitting _me right now?_  He put on his best fake smile.  “Glad to be of service.”

“Naturally, you will still be involved in the battles; we need everyone we’ve got on the front lines, ready to kick some demon butt,” Khadgar continued.  “From what I gather, you’re pretty handy with that sword of yours.”

 _I hate you_.  “I try my best.”

“Great.”  The archmage clasped his hands together.  “This is Artificer Romuul, our navigator and the primary engineer of this fine vessel.  Artificer, are we ready for take off?”

The stout draenei nodded.  “Indeed. On the Prophet’s command, I will prepare the launch sequence.”

Velen looked to the glowing green planet looming in the sky.  “I have waited milenia for this day.” He turned to those gathered at his side.  “Romuul, whenever you are ready.”

Horace wondered if he should grab onto something as the ship began to quake beneath his feet.  It settled down after a few moments, however, even if he didn’t. He swallowed hard and moved a few more steps away from the window.  While the Vindicaar rose into the air, his stomach dropped to the ground. He stared out at the lush evergreen forest and the steady blue sea beyond, not knowing if it was the last time he would ever see anything like it.  Reaching into his pack, pulled out the pictures he had brought with him. The smiling faces of his family, friends, and partner calmed him somewhat.

They began to ascend at lightning speed, and soon enough even the Exodar, then Azuremyst Isle, was just a little dot below.  Despite his earlier hesitation to do so, Horace moved until he was right up against the massive window, putting one gloved hand on its cool surface.  He could see the entire continent of Kalimdor, now, and the way Azeroth curved into an almost perfect sphere. There was the Maelstrom in the middle, as angry as ever.  The Eastern Kingdoms were beyond that, a bit harder to make out but still visible. Could they see the ship from up here? Had his family gotten his note yet?

Then Azeroth was getting smaller, and Argus was looming ever closer as the Vindicaar rocketed through empty space.  They passed the Blue Mother and the White Child. It was getting more difficult to see his world. Finally, he let out a dry sob and ripped his gaze away from it.  Staring out into the inky darkness, littered with so many stars and galaxies, Horace James Lin felt infinitesimally small. And, despite all of the people on board with him, he felt alone.  So very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bumped it up to 36 chapters because i realized that i want anduin to have a therapy dog so. at some point one of the chapters will be about how anduin finds a big, fuzzy puppy with big ole fuzzy puppy paws (it's gonna be the azeroth equivalent of a newfoundland).  
> anduin and horace are just very sappy and affectionate. anduin especially is a hopeless romantic and reads love poetry when he has a crush. horace isn't much of a poetry guy but he loves a good romantic gesture.  
> when the ship starts ascending try playing "another wave from you" by m83


	28. We Have the Power!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we'll go down in historyyyyyyy  
> remember meeeee  
> killing demons pleaseeeee

He stood at the entrance to the Vindicaar, a white-knuckled grip on his sword.  The ship had taken the one hit it could withstand; now it was time to go on the offensive.  Five hundred champions and soldiers stood at the ready all around him, waiting for the ship to touch solid ground so they could attack.  Artificer Romuul was guiding her into position, and Horace could feel her humming beneath his feet, then shudder upon impact. The doors lowered with a hiss, and he surged forward.

Plenty of demons were running up to meet them.  He swung his sword in an upward swipe, knocking the felguard’s spear away, then brought it back down to slice into fel-scarred flesh.  A kick sent it knocked it back into his next target. He seized the few moments while it was off-balance to stab it through the chest. Did demons have hearts?  Either way, it was dead.

Anxieties had risen upon their arrival to the wasteland, when the Armies of Legionfall had witnessed another draenei craft, swathed in Light, take repeated hits from a Legion blaster and crash nearby. Arator in particular had become an elven ping pong ball, chomping at the bit to get outside and search the crash site for survivors.

“They’re here,” he had insisted.  “I can sense them. Their Light calls to me.”

Horace had tried to pick up on the same energies that Arator was claiming to feel.  He could feel something--or someone--faintly, but not enough to discern any specifics.  It was something to work on.

On the battlefield, he had more pressing things to focus on, namely demon-killing.  The Armies had pushed the demons back through the pass and ended in a stalemate, with both trying and failing to gain any ground.  Both the Prophet Velen and Illidan fought alongside their soldiers, with the former standing farther back to heal. The feeling of the Prophet’s stalwart presence invigorated Horace, and he flung himself at foe after foe.

Towards the center of their vanguard, Vindicator Boros was shouting, “Get to the prisoners!  We must set them free!”

He squinted and, all throughout the valley below, he could see figures scattered about that weren’t riddled with fel.  Those must have been the prisoners. But if they were going to free them, they were going have to hack and slash a path down to them.  A difficult task, considering that more and more reinforcements were pouring in from the hills beyond. Yet being from Azeroth gave the five hundred a sort of relentlessness that could have easily been mistaken as stupidity or courage.  They were not giving the Burning Legion an inch; they were going to take a mile.

Corpses were beginning to pile up in a row before him.  There were significantly more dead demons, thank the Light.  He slammed his shield into an imp leaping for his throat, grimacing as he heard the crunch of bone.  

Fel ballistae began to launch missiles at the attacking forces.  What the draenei defense matrices did not get, Velen did, a massive wall of Light surging forward to stop the projectiles in their paths.  His spell didn’t stop there, however. It incinerated demons, both alive and dead, for several more yards before dissipating. Horace turned back to regard the Prophet, then back at the carnage he had wrought, swept up in wide-eyed amazement at the ancient being.  With the Prophet watching his back, any doubts about their chances at victory vanished.

And now he was able to fight his way to the prisoners.  The five hundred split off into smaller sects, with a sizeable force remaining at the defense matrices.  While the spell-casters worked to dismantle the Legion’s ballistae, many of the close-ranged fighters took up a fan-shaped formation.  This way they could confront a wider range of attackers while still guarding one another’s periphery. Explosions from the destruction of the ballistae rocked the ground beneath his boots.

All the while, out of the corner of his eye, Horace could see prisoners in chains, simply continuing to toil away.  How desensitized were these people, to just ignore the carnage around them? The sight strengthened his resolve, and he broke rank to dash towards the nearest laborer.

He was aghast at the face that slowly turned to greet him.  It was a draenei, but at the same time it  _ wasn’t _ .  Their cracked, chapped complexion was matched by dull eyes that glowed a sickly grey. There was no life in those eyes, no will to exist. The rags that clung to their thin frame did nothing to conceal a hunched back and whip scars.  The sight made Horace’s stomach clench.

“Come on; I can take you to safety,” he said, raising his volume to combat the cacophony of battle.

The person appeared confused, tilting their head to the side.

He grabbed them by their manacles.  “The Prophet is here. He can save you,” he tried again.

They  _ sneered _ .  The gesture sent his eyebrows skyward.  Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to let this person remain here.  He practically had to drag them, skirting around the thick of things with his sword sheathed and his shield raised against attack.  They fortunately had enough sense to stay close to him. The moment they were behind the safety of the five hundred’s defensive line, Horace turned on heel and rushed back.

Demons dogged his every step, seeing one lone soldier as easy prey.  He pointed out their mistake with the point of his blade. A sparkling lavender fireball thundered over his head as he located two more prisoners, slamming into four Legion tanks rattling towards the fight.   _ Looks like Khadgar finally decided to make an appearance _ , he thought.

These prisoners that he was shielding had shackles around their hooves, as well, and attached to that was a heavy metal ball.

“Hold this,” Horace said, and shoved his shield at one of them.  He knelt and began to channel Light into them, focusing his power until they snapped open.  His nose wrinkled as a noxious stench emanated from the broken metal now lying on the ground.  Did mixing Light with fel result in some sort of fume? If it did, he was definitely going to find a way to use it to his advantage.

To his pleasant surprise, he wasn’t the only one working to free prisoners.  Many more were joining in, now that the main fighting force the Legion had sent after them was dwindling.  He spotted several rogues putting their lockpicking skills to use busting open more manacles.

The five hundred were advancing farther down.  He caught up to them just as they were nearing the bottom of the wide ridge and retook his position amongst the vanguard.  Spread out before him were vast pools of bubbling, toxic fel, and on their shores awaited more demons. Yet what unsettled him the most were the cages.  More imprisoned draenei filled every single one, some barely managing to remain upright. It was to those poor souls that Horace went first, cutting at the locks with his sword and flinging the doors open.

“Go, get to high ground!” he cried out.  “We will protect you!”

They ran, limped, and staggered up the ridge, past the line of soldiers staving off the Burning Legion’s advance.  At the very top of the jagged rocks, he noticed Khadgar and Velen, and took heart in their continued presence on the field of battle, Velen’s moreso than Khadgar’s.

Then he heard a noise which seemed to vibrate his very bones.  It was a low, guttural growl, raising up into a roar. Horace swiveled around to the thorny peaks jutting out at the edge of the fel pools to see a pit lord rearing up, its hulking form easily taking up twice the space the one he had faced on the Broken Isles had.  And it was  _ angry _ .  His eyes widened, brow furrowed anxiously, and prayed that it wasn’t coming for them.

And, in accordance with his lucky streak, it didn’t, but something else did.  Four slavering felhounds, thinking to catch him unawares. He brought his shield up with hardly a second to spare, but the force of one of the felhounds pouncing on him still knocked him off his feet.  He landed on his back with a grunt, the four beasts continuing to assault him. He was rattling off every curse word in his vocabulary, fear hammering in his chest as he kicked out and tried to dislodge even one of the felhounds so he could get away.

Without warning, the one on his shield became dead weight.  Horace heard several whistling noises, accompanied by yelps, and suddenly he wasn’t being attacked anymore.  He lurched upright, hefting the great beast off of him, and looked around. Sprinting up a ridge towards the pit lord with inhuman speed was an elf, but her verdant green attire and long blonde hair were unrecognizable to him. She hardly faltered as she drew an arrow and fired into the crevice despite the clearly difficult angle.

A blonde Silvermoon elf with green armor and impressive skill with a bow… He scrambled to his feet, jaw dropping.  Could it be…? “No way,” he breathed, a lopsided, gleeful grin spreading across his face.

He gathered a group of prisoners and escorted them back in the direction of the Vindicaar, eyes finally landing on Vereesa with her own group heading in the same direction.  Before she could get far, he pulled her aside and quickly explained what he had seen.

Her long brows pulled inward.  “So they  _ are  _ here.  Other champions reported sighting Turalyon.”  She lowered her voice. “Don’t let Arator know… just in case.”

A worrying statement, but he snapped up into a crisp salute nonetheless, and the two went back to loosen what remained of the Burning Legion’s hold on the area.

*

Once back on the Vindicaar, Horace had volunteered to aid the healers in tending to those farther down the triage list.  He cleaned and bandaged minor lacerations and burns, healed big bruises, and distributed water to those who requested it.  Relatively simple tasks, but ones that would save the healers precious time and mana.

He tried very, very hard to keep from gaping like a fish at Alleria and Turalyon.  They were warriors of  _ legend _ , who deeds during the wars against the Horde and the Burning Legion made up the stories he had grown up with as a child.  And, although they were already standing on the navigation console’s pedestal, it wasn’t nearly as large as the one younger Horace had placed them on.  He hummed a little paladin ditty to himself as he worked, wondering if Turalyon had learned the same one when he was training with the order. It would have been so totally cool if he had.

Yet, there was someone else who required both heroes’ attention much more than he did.  Vereesa was walking down the ramp, Arator by her side, a little roughed up but otherwise fine.  The young elven paladin stuttered to a halt as soon as he noticed the two figures with their backs turned to him.  His aunt Vereesa put a hand on his shoulder and led him the rest of the way down, a smile plain on her features.

Khadgar, who was talking strategy, stopped his rambling to glance past Alleria and Turalyon.  “Ah, but we have more reunions, don’t we? He’s grown a little, but I think you’ll still recognize him.”

The two of them turned around, eyes wide and breath caught in their throats.  Alleria’s face crumpled, tears welling up. “Arator,” she rasped. “Is that you?”

Anxious but fit to burst with happiness, Arator nodded.

Alleria let loose a loud, jubilant sound that was half-laughing, half-crying, and together she and Turalyon rushed forward to embrace their son.  Through their relieved laughter, there were tears, even from the scarred and burly Turalyon.

The entire ship pretended that they weren’t watching out of respect for the family’s privacy, but all eyes were truly on them.  The only family reunited because of the ongoing war with the Burning Legion. Horace felt his eyes sting with mist and blinked, swallowing the lump in his throat.  The picture of his family was still safe, pressed up to his chest in his shirt pocket. He put a hand up to roughly where it rested.  _ I’ll see you again, too _ , he thought at it.   _ Someday _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to push the puppy to a chapter further down the line so that i can break up some of the heavier stuff with some levity. also i can hardly believe i'm 10 whole hits away from 1,000!!! thank you all so, so much <3


	29. The Bastard of Light and Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> illidan time  
> (some dialogue belongs to blizzard, not me. just so i don't get sued)

Alleria and Turalyon were so  _ cool _ .  Khadgar, despite his, um, his Khadgar-ness, was equally as impressive.  The last three Sons of Lothar lived up to their legend. And the Prophet Velen never ceased to amaze him.  Argus was an awful, awful place, but Horace was not alone in feeling that, with people like these at his side, there was a chance.

And today, he was getting to witness something even more incredible.  Along with Velen had come an object, Light’s Heart. It was the heart of a naaru prime, Xe’ra, whose body had remained on the ship they had seen crashing upon their arrival to the Legion’s homeworld.  It had taken a few days to find all of the pieces in the wreckage, but now it was time to put the naaru back together.

It was still very bizarre to Horace that Illidan Stormrage, of all people, was the “Chosen One.”  Yes, his tattoos were cool, but he could barely keep his pants up, he had a peculiar funk, and his hair was greasy.  Not to mention he didn’t seem to care even a slight bit about Xe’ra being brought back to life. On the contrary, he seemed wary of it.

Regardless, Horace was still excited.  He was going to witness an actual, honest-to-goodness naaru.  From his position near the stairs leading down to the hull, he leaned back against the wall, unable to keep an anticipatory little smile from his face.  “You think we’ll eventually get the chance to her?” he asked, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Zabra.

The priest shrugged.  “Doubt it, but you never know.  It would certainly be neat.”

Beyond neat, in his opinion.  This was a being who had witnessed the rise and fall not just of civilizations, but of worlds, galaxies, had spent thousands upon thousands of years defending all that was good in the universe.  A being who was pure Light given form. He imagined that it would be like witnessing the naaru on the Exodar, but a hundred times stronger. This was the  _ first _ .

He had had to break up a spat between the priests and the druids earlier.  It turned out the druids did not take kindly to any suggestion that Elune was actually a naaru.  Yet even they were gathered around the ship to watch. People were all crammed together on the upper decks, down the stairs, and by the navigation console.

Velen and Turalyon took great care in aligning the fragments of Xe’ra on the ground, with two of Velen’s honor guard carrying Light’s Heart between them and placing it just up from the center.  As soon as they stepped back, it began to glow. Horace sucked in a breath and leaned forward as Light’s Heart, along with the fragments of Xe’ra, levitated off the ground. He had to shield his eyes as the brightness grew to intolerable levels, the pieces swirling about their epicenter, faster and faster, until finally they stopped.  He lowered his hand, and his jaw dropped.

The intensity of the emotions he felt swirling through him was… indescribable.  He was so small compared to this infinite cosmic being before him, but there was still an overwhelming feeling of safety and love emanating from her.  All at once he felt moved to tears of fury, sorrow, and joy. Every fiber of his being sang as her energy resonated with his so perfectly.

He watched as Turalyon rose from the spot where he had been kneeling, never once taking his eyes off of her.  “We are blessed to be in your presence once more, Xe’ra,” he breathed.

“Turalyon,” Xe’ra greeted warmly.  Her voice, so angelic, filled every nook and cranny of the Vindicaar as she spoke, playing on the heartstrings of all those gathered.  “You have found the Chosen One.”

Begrudgingly, Turalyon presented Illidan to her.  The demon hunter stepped forward, his ever-present frown more prominent than ever.

“Illidan,” she lamented.  “From birth, the Light in your eyes held such promise for the future.”

“I sacrificed that birthright long ago,” he informed her flatly.

But Xe’ra still pressed him.  “Do you not wish to reclaim that birthright?  To be whole again?”

Even with his limited knowledge, Horace knew the gist of Illidan’s story, how he had become a demon hunter and the events that led up to the Black Temple invasion.  Yet Xe’ra’s question puzzled him. What would he be reclaiming? The night elves’ empire was destroyed, there were hardly any mages to speak up who hadn’t become social pariahs.

Illidan thought about it for a moment.  “The Legion’s end is all I seek,” he replied, true to his character.

“My child… You’ve given so much, for so little,” the naaru crooned.  “Your true potential, your redemption, lies before you.”

With those words, Xe’ra sent a wave of Light floating down towards the demon hunter, reaching out to encircle him despite Illidan’s wary backpedalling.

“Let go of your shattered mold, and embrace the Light’s power.”

“I’ve traded my freedom for power before,” he growled.

Xe’ra began to grow brighter and brighter, lighting up the entire ship.  “The prophecy must be fulfilled,” she insisted, and with that, she closed the circle.

Illidan was snatched up and lifted off the ground; try as he might, he could not seem to get free.  Horace watched, concern clutching at his chest while Illidan continued to struggle.

“Your old life has passed,” Xe’ra continued.  “The Light will forge you a new one.”

What was going  _ on _ ?  Looking around, he could see others desperate to understand what the naaru prime was trying to accomplish.

“It is not yours to take!” Illidan cried.

From the bonds seeped more Light, working their way up and down Illidan’s fel tattoos.  “The Light will heal your scars,” Xe’ra told him, pulsing with raw, unbridled cosmic prowess.

“I  _ am _ my scars!” Illidan roared, his voice taking on a deeper, more reverberating tone.

Horace’s heart was pounding.  He had no idea if he should step in.  Something, some demon Illidan had taken in, was fighting back against Xe’ra, and it was  _ angry _ .  No one around him moved, their collective feet frozen in fear.

The naaru began to swell, almost doubling in size, until she brushed the ceiling.  “The Light is your destiny.”

Illidan curled in on himself.  “My destiny,” he howled, lightning crackling in the arc of his horns, “is!  My! OWN!”

Everything after that happened so fast, Horace could hardly believe it was happening at all.  Illidan broke himself free of his bonds, his blindfold turning to ash the instant beams of fel energy shot forth from his eyes.  Xe’ra was dealt the full brunt of the attack, seeming to cave under the immense force. Horace turned away as he heard deep, horrific cracking sound, followed by a discordant scream, shielding his face.  Gale-force winds had him staggering back against the wall while debris pelted his armor. He could hardly breath, he was so heavily buffeted. When it finally relented, he was gasping for air and coughing at the shimmering dust floating all around him.  He turned around.

“No,” he whispered.   _ There’s hardly anything left… _

Xe’ra was gone.  In her place were a few bits of rubble scattered about.  Illidan fell to the deck, slamming onto the cold metal with a groan.  It was quiet. Dead quiet.

Turalyon was the first to recover, his face contorting into unadulterated rage.  He stormed over to Illidan, unsheathing his sword and bellowing, “You’ve doomed us  _ all _ !  Betrayer”

Illidan caught the blade before it could cleave him in half.  His arm shook as Turalyon leaned all his weight into his sword, bright green blood dripping from his hand to the floor.  Slowly, he turned his head to look the paladin in the eye.

“Your faith has blinded you.  There can be no ‘Chosen One.’ Only we can save ourselves,” he snarled.

Turalyon had to be wrenched off of Illidan.  The demon hunter stumbled to his feet, still breathing hard, then limped off to his cabin.  Turalyon watched him go with ineffable malice in his gaze.

Velen was already stepping forward to address the horrified army.  “The Light does not die with the prime naaru,” he assured them. “It shines within each of us!”

_ Yeah, I learned that a while back _ , Horace thought.  He shivered. Without Xe’ra’s energy, the Vindicaar was frigid, and dark.  Swallowing his anxiety, he started to move about the ship, taking stop of people’s mentality and trying his best to assuage them.  The priests, paladins, and draenei were affected the worst, obviously. It helped him a little, as well, keeping him distracted from his own shock.

Within the next several hours, orders were being given out.  Horace was sent to meet up with Captain Fareeya at her holdout near the Xenedar crash site and help kill some demons.  Before he left, though, he made time to scrawl out a letter to Anduin. He detailed the day’s events as best he could, still in the process of dealing with it all.  But writing things out helped, and Anduin’s previous letter had been a great comfort amidst so much chaos. Light, it had already been two weeks since they had first landed on Argus.  He could hardly believe it.

_ It’s really frustrating that things can’t just be cut and dry when the universe is at stake _ , he wrote.   _ Everyone’s so shook up at what happened and believe me, I am too, but I can’t help but sympathize with Illidan.  Yeah, he’s weird, but he kind of makes a good point? I don’t even know how to describe it, but I can’t bring myself to accept what Xe’ra did as righteous or good. _ _ Anyways, I miss you.  I hope my parents didn’t level any cities when they got my letter.  Yours, Horace _

He slipped the sealed envelope through the mail slot.  It disappeared with a little purple glow. In a few minutes, it would probably poof into existence on Anduin’s desk in Stormwind.  Such were the wonders of magic.

Turalyon was leading the group of twenty-five.  Horace wondered if he was steady enough to resume duties; he himself certainly wasn’t, but he would go where he was needed.  From the navigation console, they were able to access the proper teleportation beacon to Fareeya’s encampment. They brought supplies with them, mostly field medical kits and ration packs.

Thassarian and Koltira were assigned to the group, as well as three paladins of the Silver Hand.  The death knights kept to themselves, talking quietly while they unboxed supplies and sorted them accordingly.  Innocuous enough, but not according to the paladins. They kept glaring at them, muttering to one another. It made the hair on the back of Horace’s neck stand on end.

Finally, the dam burst.  Thassarian let out an exaggerated sigh, turning to face the others.  “Is there something I can help you with?” he drawled.

“Nothing at all,” one of the paladins replied.  “I was just wondering how it felt for someone like you.”

Both of them rolled their eyes.  “Here we go,” Koltira muttered.

“Was it a relief to watch such a holy spirit die?” the paladin asked, his tone barbed.

“Ugh.  Are we really doing this?” Thassarian wondered.

Horace stepped in between the two orders before things went too far south.  “We’re  _ all  _ upset about Xe’ra, no matter what our situation might be.  It was an upsetting thing. But we have to listen to what Velen told us; the Light shines in everyone.   _ Everyone _ .”

To his ultimate surprise, he heard Turalyon scoff.

“High Exarch,” he said, letting just enough warning edge into his tone that hopefully he would get the message.

“No need to worry, gentlemen,” Turalyon assured them, although he looked upon the two with unmasked disdain.  “Once we receive the rest of the Army of the Light, we will not longer need to stoop to your unholy level.”

“And I thought paladins liked kneeling,” Thassarian remarked to Koltira.  The elf chuckled.

Before Horace could intervene further, the High Exarch turned on heel and signaled for the paladins to follow.  He looked from one group to the other, confounded, until eventually he just sighed, and went back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1000 hits!!!!!! ohmigosh this has 1000 hits!!!!!


	30. Boof

They arrived in the Antoran Wastes around midnight.  At least, that was what the clock inside the Vindicaar had told them as they took the teleportation beacons.  There was no such thing as a normal day-night cycle on Argus. When Horace and his team materialized in the Veiled Den, he was a little dismayed to find that there was no gnomish clock.

The current assignment was to spend a month taking care of the demons pouring out of the Burning Throne.  From anywhere on the desolate planet, he could see Legion ships moving in towards Azeroth. The sight made his queasy, but reports were coming in that the Alliance and Horde were managing to hold to their own against the demons.  It was reassuring to know that all these reincarnated demons were most likely sent back due to Azeroth’s efforts.

Illidan was crouched near the entrance to his cave, warglaives poised to strike.  Outside was a patrolling pack of felhounds. What they lacked in sight they made up for tenfold in smell and hearing.  Even the slightest movement sent the whole pack barrelling towards the source.

The Illidari leader raised one arm, then pointed his glaive at the felhounds.  Six demon hunters shot out, quick as the wind, and intercepted their quarry. Within moments, they were disposed of and lugged away to a burn pile.  It wouldn’t bode well to have any Legion scouts stumble upon a massive pile of demon corpses.

Horace adjusted his armor as he approached Illidan.  “So, we’re under your command for a while. What do you need us to do?”

His ear flicked back when Horace started talking, indicating that he was listening, but he didn’t reply for a while.  Finally, he muttered, “Watch. And wait.”

It was going to be a long month.

*

“So how have you been lately?  Hanging in there?”

Anduin took a deep breath, drinking in the crisp morning air and its salty tinge.  Standing at Lion’s Rest, one could look over the entire Stormwind Harbor. Despite it still being fairly early, people were already bustling about the docks, merchant and military vessels preparing for their respective voyages.  Some voyages ones that Anduin himself had sent them on. The Burning Legion had not stopped attacking Azeroth just because Argus was under siege, but the world and its people were managing to hold their own.

“I have more downs than ups,” he admitted, keeping his voice pitched so the guards could not hear.  Genn had insisted that he be accompanied by at least two of the Lion’s Guard whenever he set foot out of the keep, even though Anduin wished for a little more solitude.

He didn’t mind Saskia’s company, however; in fact he appreciated it.  Saskia had “adopted” him after their adventures together in Pandaria, taking on the role of older sister.  Despite all her Saskia-isms, she provided him with all the affection and support he assumed normal siblings would give each other.  It helped him cope, anyways, to have someone like himself to talk to, a shoulder to cry on when he felt his mind caving in on itself.

“But, yes, I’m hanging in there,” he added.  He set the bouquet of flowers at the foot of his father’s stone memorial.  “It’s… difficult… to think that he’s just a pile of ash now.”

“I mean, we all are eventually,” Saskia reminded him.  “But he’s still a totally badass pile of ash.”

He let out a breathy chuckle.  “Yeah.”

Next, they went across the city to the official Stormwind cemetery.  His mother’s tomb was towards the end, near a corner where light would touch it most of the day, making the smooth cream surface glitter.  He placed her bouquet atop the cool marble.

“Good morning, Mother,” he said softly.  “I hope Father isn’t giving you too much trouble.”  Dammit, his eyes were already starting to sting. He swallowed hard against the tightness threatening to build in his throat.  Grief came in waves, but kings didn’t have time to sit around and stew in it. He had three different meetings today and open court for several hours, and Light knew what reports of Legion activity would come in.

“I miss you both, but I always keep you close to my heart.  Stormwind is safe, and its soldiers fighting valiantly in the war.  You can rest easy knowing our kingdom will prevail through this hardship.”

Saskia smiled at him from where she leaned against a tree.

He sighed through his nose, then straightened his posture.  “Well, time to go face the music,” he said. “I’ll see you again when I’m able, Mother.”

“Bold of you to assume any noise coming out of the Merchant’s Guild hydra mouth complex is pleasing to the ear,” Saskia said as she fell in step beside him.

He rolled his eyes, though internally he agreed.

When they were halfway towards the keep, picking their way through the Dwarven District, she asked, “You get any more letters from Horace recently?”

“One arrived a few days ago.  Apparently Illidan Stormrage killed the naaru prime.”

“Uh, yikes!  I can’t imagine the draenei were very pleased with that,” she remarked.

“To say the least.  Horace was telling me that she seemed to be forcing the Light on him, though, actually tied him up and refused to let him go until he physically broke free.  It’s so contradictory to what I’ve experienced with other naaru. I never thought they were capable of afflicting someone in such a way.” He folded his arms across his chest.  “I don’t know what to make of it.”

Saskia shrugged.  “Gods are weird. Odyn tried to do the same thing to Helya, only he actually succeeded and she ended up still going rogue.”

“You think Illidan would have betrayed us if Xe’ra had transformed him?” Anduin asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Is that a dog?”

He frowned.  “That hardly seems relevant--”

She shook her head and pointed to the left, near the entrance to one of the canals’ fishing locales.  “No, there’s a dog over there. I think. Come on.”

He followed her, looking back at his guards and shrugging.  They were probably looking rather annoyed underneath their helmets.  Right near the water’s edge, Saskia was kneeling and wiping the mud off of some growling, squirming creature.

“It is a dog!” she told him gleefully.

Anduin crouched down next to her.  Sure enough, the creature was a little black puppy, old enough to be away from its mother but not completely on its own.  And it was _very_ fluffy, even covered in so much muck.  A little pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it peered up at him and panted.

“Hello there, little fellow,” he said, a smile creeping onto his features.

One large paw reached up to swat at the cloth Saskia was still trying to clean him with.  Its sharp milk teeth flashed, ears flopping up and down as it chased her hand around.

“He definitely needs a bath,” she said.  “Probably some food, too.”

Anduin had one dog, an older, plumper pug, but he was more of a kitchen dweller than companion animal.  The thought of having a big, fluffy dog by his side wasn’t a bad one… “Does he have a collar?”

“Nope, and no one around here.  I think he’s abandoned.”

An orphan, then.  Anduin could relate.  “Well, let’s take him back to the keep,” he said, rising to his feet.

Saskia hefted the wriggling puppy in her arms.  “Genius idea on your part. What should we call him?”

“He sort of looks like a bear,” Anduin noted.  “Let’s name him Bear.”

“Bear, huh?  What do you say, Bear; wanna come live with us?” Saskia asked.

In response, he tried to bite her nose.

The guards both looked ready to object when the two turned to face them.  Bear craned his neck to sniff them, tail wagging.

“I, um… I’m the king,” Anduin stated, feeling sheepish and judged.

Saskia threw her head back and cackled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to write their adventures in pandaria... someday. probably after nanowrimo.


	31. Sometimes It Be Like That

It had indeed been a long, long month, and Horace was glad to be back in the relative safety of the Vindicaar, where demons weren’t preventing him from getting more than an hour of sleep at a time. He scrubbed his grimy, sleep-sore face with some soap and cold water at the barrack’s wash station, although it didn’t make much difference anymore whether he did or didn’t. Argus’s atmosphere was so polluted that his face was a mess of blackheads and deep, painful acne.  Even the dwarves, who spent most of their time in sooty Ironforge, were all broken out. In addition, a steady supply on inhalers was teleported in to help people cope with being outdoors too long. His lungs hurt, he was congested, and he was tired. When he was clean enough to curl up in his hammock, he purposely faced towards the wall in hopes that no one would bother him.

In the shirt pocket of his civilian fatigues were the pictures of his family and friends.  He pulled them out and couldn’t help but smile back at all their grinning faces, feeling his crabbiness melt away.  _ I’m doing this for them _ , he reminded himself.   _ It’ll all be worth it in the end _ .

During his stay in the Veiled Den, he had caught glimpses of the Antorus.  The hulking, fel-infused fortress had sent dread creeping up his spine. Even from several miles away, he could feel the oppressive nature of it, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand in.  He sighed and shook his head to rid his mind of those thoughts. Right now, it was nap time, and he was not about to waste such a glorious opportunity.

Several peaceful hours went by before he was shaken awake by Arator.  “Whuzzit?” he mumbled.

“Magni Bronzebeard and the shamans just came back from the Krokul Hovel.  They want us all to convene at the navigation console immediately,” Arator told him.

He lurched upright and out of his hammock, stomping into his boots.  “Alright, let’s go see what he wants.”

The champions of Azeroth were crowded around the navigation console to hear Magni’s message.  It was still a bit jarring to talk to someone who had been turned into  _ solid diamond _ , not to mention that he was just transparent enough to make distinguishing his facial features difficult.  Horace usually just guessed where he should be looking when he needed to make eye contact and hoped that the former king would understand.

Flanked by Farseer Nobundo and Muln and Rehgar Earthfury, Magni Bronzebeard stood with his hands clasped behind his back.  “Are we all here? Good, good…”

Horace worried his lower lip.  Whatever news there was, it wasn’t good.

“The Krokul possess a particularly powerful artifact, one that had been calling me for some time now.  The shamans and I were able to discern exactly what the artifact was this morning,” Magni began. “It seems to be a remnant of this world’s soul.”

“Argus is a Titan, then?” Khadgar asked, and Magni nodded.

“Aye.  He had some disturbing information to share.  Sargeras has the Titan pantheon’s souls captive.  With the power of the Burning Legion, he is going to attempt to resurrect them, and is using his corrupted champion, Aggramar, to accomplish this.”

He paused to let his words sink in.  Then, “Argus is the means an Sargeras’s infinite army.  To defeat the Burning Legion, we have to destroy him.”

“And what happens to a world when its soul dies?” Turalyon wondered.

“I… I’m not quite sure.  But I don’t think we should stick around to find out,” Magni admitted, voice husky.

Alleria folded her arms across her chest, brows furrowing.  “We need to buy ourselves time until we can mount a full-scale siege of Antorus.  Where would give us a strategic foothold near the fortress?”

Arator stepped up closer to the platform.  “Destiny Point is the closest we’ve gotten to Antorus, right?  Couldn’t we just expand our reach there?” he offered.

She hummed thoughtfully.  “We were originally planning to assault Nath’raxas Hold a few weeks from now… What say you, Prophet?”

All eyes went to Velen as he surveyed a map of the Antoran Wastes splayed out on the navigation console.  After a time, he said, “It would be a great undertaking, yet if we are successful, we will have eliminated many of the Burning Legion’s officers stationed there.”

“Which means no one giving orders against us until they find replacements,” Alleria finished, tapping her chin with an index finger.  “Risky indeed, but worthwhile. All those in favor?”

Horace gulped and warily rose his hand as the majority of the champions around him did the same.  Balking at the risk factor when he was already trapped on a planet like Argus was a waste of energy, but he couldn’t help the anxiety fizzling in his gut.

Velen nodded.  “Then it is settled.  Romuul, prepare a teleportation beacon between Destiny Point and the Vindicaar.  The rest of you should begin preparing for the battle ahead; I will ready the troops,” he declared.

“The Legion is keeping as close an eye on us are we are on them,” Alleria added.  “We need to work quickly to set up shop before they have a chance to call their armies back and stop us.  For Azeroth!”

The champions echoed her cry, some more determinedly than others.  Horace took a deep breath to steel himself, then scavenged for pencil and paper.  While the commanding officers were busy briefing their soldiers, he was making his way around the ship, taking stock of morale and coming up with a list of supplies people were requesting.  First aid was naturally highest on the list, second being comfort objects. Books, portable board games, card decks, and loose pieces of cotton to pad armor with were the most-requested. He understood why; in his time at the Veiled Den, he had picked up blackjack, poker, and gin rummy while waiting for the next wave of demons to attack.

The quartermaster, Vindicator Jaelanna, took one look at the long list and said, “And you want all of this in three days?”  She did not bother to hide an ounce of incredulity.

“I put a star next to the must-haves,” Horace replied, tapping one of them.  “The rest can trickle in, but we need more medical supplies before the assault begins.  Please?”

She grunted and walked away with the list.  “Sure, of course, let me conjure everything out of thin air.”  She paused halfway to the Kirin Tor to add over her shoulder, “I will, but only because you asked nicely.”

“Thank you!” he called.  Alright, now time to prepare himself.

He wished that his armor had gotten more than a few hours to air out, but war had taught him that  _ everyone _ was going to smell, some more pungently than others-- the demon hunters, for instance, and the death knights and Forsaken.  Besides, the invisible stink lines radiating off of him were a sign of a battle well-fought and a victory well-earned. Finishing the last few buckles, he stepped back out of the barracks and back towards the navigation console.

Boxes were piling up near the steps leading up to the teleportation beacon.  After getting confirmation from Romuul of where the beacon was calibrated to, he began carrying them through to Destiny Point.  More soldiers joined him, and the supplies trickled into the base while inquisitive felbats circled overhead. One of the Lightforged draenei, Captain Fareeya, took great pleasure in shooting them down.  Everyone else took less pleasure in trying to dodge the falling corpses.

Millhouse Manastorm was walking towards Horace the moment he stepped out of the beacon and into the Vindicaar, not even glancing up from the stack of envelopes he was flipping through as he handed one to Horace.  “Letter for you,” he said.

He couldn’t help but smile when he saw the familiar blue wax seal on the parchment.  Before he could read it, however, he saw the mage’s face drain of color.

“Ah, rats!” Millhouse groaned.

Horace gestured to the paper he held.  “Is that from your ex-wife?”

The morose-looking mage nodded.  “She’s finding a way to get to Argus so she can kill me.”

From where she was sitting near the navigation console dias, Alleria glanced over at him and chuckled.

“Oh, blow it out your ass,” Millhouse grumbled.

In that moment, the legendary ranger shifted her weight to one side and farted, expression deadpan.

More than a few amused onlookers began laughing, including Horace.

“Khadgar!” Alleria cried, turning to look accusingly at the archmage, and he laughed harder.

Horace leaned against the wall with his foot propped back, deciding that he had done his fair share of hauling for the time being.  A few wax crumbled fell as he lifted the seal, unfolding the paper to see what Anduin’s neat, flowing script had to say.

 

_ Horace, _

_ It’s awful what happened between Illidan and Xe’ra.  No doubt having a naaru on your side would have given you greater peace of mind, but fate is a fickle beast.  Although I know you possess commendable skill with sword and shield, it is always a relief to hear from you. With someone such as yourself on the front lines, I have no doubt the Legion will fall.  Until then, I will continue to pray for your safe return, so that I may take your hand in mine and kiss you once more. _

_ Yours, _

_ Anduin _

 

He could feel his face grow warm as he finished reading.  And attached to the bottom, to his delighted surprise, was poetry.  Anduin had actually included  _ love poetry _ !  Horace pressed the letter to his breastplate with both hands, head tilting back against the wall and eyes squeezed shut as he let a smile overtake his features.   _ Love poetry! _

“Got a sweetheart, eh?”

Stormcaller Mylra chuckled as he startled out of his thoughts, gently elbowing his side.  “Ah, good for you, laddie. Make sure they send a good picture, too!”

He did have a picture of Anduin, but he figured that she wasn’t talking about a simple portrait.  His face turned even darker red.

Slowly-approaching footsteps brought his attention from the shaman to the Prophet Velen as he walked past him towards the infirmary.  The ageless priest looked from the paper to Horace, smirked, and threw him a wink.

_ Can you read minds? _ Horace thought, but he received to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i went back and changed horace's week with the illidari to horace's month with the illidari just to stretch things out a little, give events some breathing room. next chapter will be the actual siege of nath'raxas and everyone's first good look at antorus.


	32. Obligatory Poop-Related Quest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just realized that i need to make the argus campaign stretch out over a year

_ Day 1 _

The battle for Nath’raxas Hold had begun without any pomp and circumstance or inspiring speeches, as the demons had started to attack Destiny Point before the Light and Legionfall armies were even fully there.  The Legion officers had rallied reinforcements from Krokuun out of desperation to preserve their last stronghold until Antorus. It was a message the Vindicaar was late in receiving.

“Tell Hatuun that we are well aware of the situation!” Romuul barked to the Krokul messenger.  “Ask him to send as many soldiers as he can spare. Go, now!”

Horace was through the teleporter and emerging in the thick of things without hesitation, too busy skewering demons to bother with buckling his helmet.  Light, channelled through his gladius, had his targets screaming in terror and agony with each blow he landed. He threw down a spell of consecration, grounding himself in the Light’s presence.  Until a noxious stench reached his nose.

It was like fel, but worse.  He coughed and spluttered and tried to wave away the fumes obscuring his vision, to no avail.  Blinking the water out of his eyes, he ran forward, out of the cloud and smack into a felguard.  He cursed himself repeatedly as he dodged the demon’s bloody spear.

Those surrounding him didn’t care for it much, either.  Racing away from the fumes, Justicar Celeste cried, “Who the hell did that?”

“So sorry!” Horace yelled back, just as Shinfel cackled and unleashed an infernal upon a group of incoming imps.  The fiery green rock soon stomped them into the earth.

They were holding the demons back from Destiny Point, but ultimately they were outmatched, and the Vindicaar wasn’t meant to take heavy fire.  The ship rumbled as it banked right and headed farther from the battle, where it would hopefully remain safer.

A projection of Romuul remained near the Prophet Velen.  “Please keep my warframe safe,” he beseeched those nearby.  “It is very expensive and very hard to repair.”

Horace was close enough that he heard the architect, and couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  It was then that he noticed the goblin with electric green hair clambering over Destiny Point’s barricades; from the way she was dressed, it was clear she wasn’t a soldier.  “Hey, get back! You’re gonna get yourself killed,” he told her.

“Not with a handsome young bodyguard I’m not!” she replied cheerily.  Hefting a wrench from her toolbag, she swung it into the shin of a nathrezim, and Horace grimaced at the awful crunching sound.  “Come on!”

He barely had time to defeat those he was currently engaged with before she had dashed off towards Nath’raxas Hold.  Her small size and stature enabled her to duck and dodge with significant ease. Horace, on the other hand, had a much more difficult time.   _ Everything _ seemed to notice him.  And, when he finally caught up to her, she was sitting on a rock, jiggling her leg with her chin resting on a fist.

“You done messin’ around yet?” she asked flatly.

He squinted incredulously at her, panting too hard for a retort.

Hopping down from her perch, she pulled out a little list and skimmed it.  “Okay, we have to look for some Vindicator plating, a judgment core, and an ‘invocation array,’ whatever that is.”

“I don’t know what any of those things are,” he informed her.

“Oh, no, you’ll just be killing the things that are guarding them.  I’ll do the finding,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “Alrighty, let’s go.”

He did  _ a lot _ of guarding.  The goblin lady--her name turned out to be Pixie--did end up thanking him, more than once, in fact, as he faced down throngs of demons that she had lured out poking around in every nook and cranny.

“I’ll let ya take a ride in this thing once it’s repaired,” she offered once they’d retrieved all of the supplies.

He stared at the big, shiny golden warframe, lips pursing.  “I think I’m good,” he finally said. “I like living.”

 

_ 1 Week In _

Their backup from Krokuun arrived, and not a moment too soon.  The defending Legion forces were loathe to part with Nath’raxas Hold.  Despite the krokul being few in number, they were incredibly skilled, and vastly more capable at using the terrain to their advantage.  And yet there was another problem: their own stronghold was threatened. The Legion was recalling their forces from other worlds now that the Light and Legionfall armies had proven themselves as a legitimate threat.  Although their intricate system of tunnels had yet to be discovered, it seemed only a matter of time.

At Destiny Point, Horace was close enough to overhear Chieftan Hatuun speaking with Alleria, Turalyon, and Velen.

“You will not win with a full frontal assault,” he insisted.  “The Legion does not just understand brute force--it has mastered it.”

“You seem to be suggesting we take a more guerilla approach,” Alleria remarked.

“Precisely.  Whittle away at something, and eventually you will attain the shape you need.”

 

_ 1 Month In _

“Okay, everyone, we’re relying on our ability to shut the hell up.  Felhounds have poor sight but excellent smell and hearing. You’ll need to cover yourself with this to confuse them.”

Horace grimaced as he looked at the goopy, foul-smelling mixture he was supposed to slather himself with.  He had forgone plate armor for this assignment, keeping just his padded leather vest and chainmail shirt on.  Thankful for his gloves preventing any direct contact, he slapped a layer of what Shinfel said was “demon musk” on his chest, legs, and head.  The fumes made his eyes water.

“Poison the Legion’s rations, they said.  It’ll be fun, they said.”

He snorted at Millhouse Manastorm’s grumblings.  “It’ll be fun to watch them run to the outhouse, anyways.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I have yet to see any sort of fel-forged bathrooms,” the mage replied, prompting several disgusted noises.

Once they had begun to move in on Nath’raxas Hold’s larder, they fell completely silent.  Horace crouched low as he padded softly across the dead earth, gaze darting around, looking for any signs of danger.  It was past midnight, and patrols were still frequent but fewer in number. Even minions of the Burning Legion had to sleep, apparently, but tonight wasn’t about seeing how many guards they could take down.

Like most fel structures, the larder had no door.  While Horace and three other champions waited outside, Sylendra Gladesong and Zen’tabra snuck in.  As druids, they possessed the ability to rapidly grow plant life. And fungal life, the seeds of which they were tasked with sprinkling inside the newest batch of hard tack batter.  The effects would be apparent sometime around mid-morning. They would be preoccupied enough to not notice that their fortress was being made quick work of by goblin and gnome sappers.

Next to him, Taoshi bared her teeth and growled quietly.  There was a patrol headed their way. Horace stuck his head into the larder and hissed a warning to the druids before crouching back down behind a stack of crates.

Only two felguards.  Not a difficult target, necessarily, but they had to be careful.  All it took was one warning call before they were swarmed with demons and it was game over.  He tried not to think about that, focusing instead on remaining hidden. Hopefully the two druids inside were doing the same.

One of the felguards stopped, and so did Horace’s heart.  It sniffed the air and looked about for any intruders, causing its counterpart to pause and do the same.  Then they began moving towards the crates.

Taoshi signaled for the four of them to remain still.  No one dared to even breathe as the demons stopped again mere inches from where they were hiding.  When Taoshi struck, she was a blur, leaping up to bury her daggers in their skulls in the same way a viper attacked unsuspecting mice.  Horace scrambled to ease the now-corpses onto the ground so they wouldn’t thud, and together he and Taoshi drug them out of sight.

She pulled a vial of crimson liquid out of her vest and, with the utmost delicacy, poured a thin stream down the length of the felguard’s body.  “It’ll dissolve them within the hour. We can’t leave any trace of our presence,” she whispered.

“Why not just use that on the rations?” Horace asked, pitching his voice low.

She secured the cap after trickling more on the other body.  “It would eat through the crates. Only diamond bottles keep something this potent contained.”

A few moments later, Broll stuck his antlered head out.  “We’re done. Is the way clear?”

He nodded, refusing to look down at the demon bodies.  The stench of rapidly-decaying flesh was something that would stick with him for a long time; he wasn’t about to add the sight of it to that list of horrors.

As predicted, Sylendra and Broll’s handiwork was evident around ten in the morning.  The smell permeating the hold was horrific. Their victory in the ensuing surprise attack, on the other hand, was considerably less so.

 

_ 3 Months In _

He had just skewered his fifth demon when Illidan rudely decided to fire his eye beams right above his head.  Granted, it did take out a significant amount number of enemies careening towards Destiny Point, but it also scared the hell out of him.  Heart still pounding, he skidded to a stop halfway down the hill and thrust his sword upward into an incoming felbat. These skirmishes were becoming more and more frequent, and coming at all hours.  There never seemed to be a dull moment lately.

On the bright side, their earlier plan to taint the food had allowed them to gain a significant advantage over the Legion.  While the forces that had required food had been incapacitated, the Legionfall had swooped in, leaving mass carnage and few survivors in their wake.  The last bits of the hold were sure to fall in the coming weeks.

“Hey, Horace!  We need ya up here!”

Chest heaving, he surveyed the area.  No demons in sight. He turned and waved to Pixie, letting her know that he was coming, and started to trudge back up the steep hill.

“How’d’ya like to be a test pilot, kiddo?” she chirped.

He cocked his sweaty head to the side.  “It isn’t high on my bucket list,” he admitted.  “Why?”

“Ta-da!”  She stepped to the side and presented the metal contraption behind her with a flourish and a bow.  “We have completed the warframes.”

The gleaming, golden surface shone brightly in the dim atmosphere, almost painfully so.  It was a little over twice his size, equipped with a gun for a forearm and rockets on its legs.  “What’s my survival rate?” he asked warily.

Pixie beamed up at him.  “Ninety-five point three three three, repeating of course.”

“I don’t like that five percent.”

She waved a dismissive hand.  “Oh, that’s just the worst case scenario.  You’re smart enough and the right size to fit in this bad boy, so I doubt anything bad--”

“I’ll do it if you don’t finish that sentence,” he replied.

“Deal!”

There were a total of ten other warframes.  Pixie, along with Grand Artificer Romuul’s hologram and the rest of the engineering crew, went over the basics of how it operated.  In the heat of battle, Horace doubted that he would remember any of it, but he did his best to listen.

He and the nine other champions chosen were to be aerial cover for the rest of the army as they made for one final attack to bring Nath’raxas Hold to its knees.

“Our plan to make this a quick and seamless takeover failed,” Romuul stated, “but that does not mean we no longer have a chance.  It simply means that we have to work harder to achieve our goal. The Legion is not called endless for nothing. They are summoning their forces from other worlds faster than we are managing to kill them here; with the fall of Nath’raxas and its commanders, that flow will lessen considerably.  We must do everything in our power to ensure that we are victorious today.”

Horace swallowed hard.  “No pressure, right?” he joked, but his voice belied his anxiety.

“The Prophet and I hold you all in the highest regard.  We have no doubts that you be successful,” Romuul assured him.  “We will attack within the hour. Until then, we ask that you remain close.”

He took the time to meditate a little and steady himself before such an important task.  He pulled out the two pictures and his most recent mail from a pocket and looked them over for perhaps the fifth time that week.  It was the only thing keeping him grounded in the chaotic whirlwind that was this war. There was, of course, his regular letter from Anduin, which included notes from Saskia and Natalie and a new snippet of poetry.  He himself knew absolutely no poetry, and never had the knack for it, but at one point he’d included, “Roses are red, violets are blue, chocolate is sweet, and so are you.” Anduin reported that it was the sweetest thing he’d read all week.

He had also received mail from his parents.  They were, as expected, furious that he had willingly agreed to journey to a literal hell planet, but he knew that that anger only came from worry for his safety.  It made him feel bad, but there was no going back now.

_ Sorry, Khadgar, my mom won’t let me.  She says it’s too scary.  _ It was hard not to giggle at the thought of his commanders’ reactions.  He had profusely apologized in his letter back, naturally.

He decided to clamber into his warframe twenty or so minutes ahead of schedule to get a feel for the controls.  Between all the buckles and padding, he felt surprisingly secure. Maybe the five percent  _ was _ just to account for worst case scenario.

Pixie coached him through getting airborne and landing, having him hover for a few seconds before gently dropping back down, gently being the key word.  By the time the Legionfall and Light armies had poured into Destiny Point, he felt confident of his chances. He maneuvered the non-weaponized arm to give her a thumbs up.

Someone was giving a speech, but he couldn’t hear much through the translucent crystal shield.  It was obvious when the battle had begun, however, because the troops were falling into formation and marching towards Nath’raxas.  He inhaled deeply, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled.  _ You got this; unstoppable gay powerhouse. _

The warframe settled into a steady hum as he lifted off the ground and started moving forward.  Heartbeat fluttering, he let out a nervous chuckle and eased the control sticks forward. He nearly leaped out of his skin when he heard a loud static crackling directly in his ear.

“Hey, kid, we installed a shortwave radio on this thing!” came Pixie’s voice.  “Just in case you forget what all the buttons do.”

“Fantastic!  Thank you!” he replied dryly, taking his hand off one of the sticks to rub his ringing ear.  “Where do you need me?”

There was another wave of static, but this time he was expecting it.  “Keep above the spires and shoot down those flying demons. Try not to get separated; that’s how they getcha.”

“Ten-four.”  Though his movement was shaky, he managed to gain altitude.  From his vantage point, he could see a demon army headed their way, with even more positioned in the hold’s courtyard.  For the moment, though, there wasn’t much in the way of flying targets.

Over the radio, he could hear Arator’s voice.  “I’m going to lay down some covering fire.”

He saw the paladin’s warframe tailed by several others in his periphery and decided to follow.  Adrenaline pumped through his veins the more speed he gained, and he let out a whoop, bringing the gun arm forward and watching the demons scatter in his wake.  Down below, he watched the two vanguards collide. It was… almost painful, to witness the sheer level of carnage. He swallowed hard and tried to remind himself that this was what he was seeing, participating in, every battle, but it was hard to not feel unsettled.

“Incoming!”

He yelped and swerved to avoid an infernal hurtling out of the sky.  Pulling one stick back, he spun around and fired several shots. They hit the demon dead center and sent its pieces scattering in all directions, but it was still one of many he could see.  He chased them down in his warframe, blasting as many as he found out of the sky.

Turalyon’s voice fizzled in over the radio.  “Lord Nath’raxas has shown himself; champions, advance!”

Horace swooped down into the Court of the Avenger, following the other warframes inside the largest structure of the hold.  At the back of the chamber was the largest eredar he had ever seen, its hulking physique bordering around fifty feet. So he immediately began trying to gun it down.  

Lord Nath’raxas snarled, one massive, clawed hand colliding with a firing warframe.  Horace heard Arator cry out and his heart clenched in worry as he saw him slam into the ground, warframe crumpled up like parchment.  But he couldn’t let it keep him distracted. He continued to fire round after round of Light-infused ammunition at the eredar overlord, being very careful not to get too close to either hand.  Between nine warframes and almost fifty champions, Lord Nath’raxas was toast.

The eredar toppled to the ground with a thunderous crash just as Grand Artificer Romuul spoke into the radio, “We need two of you to tow the mech outside.  We will lock onto your location and teleport you back to the Vindicaar.”

The next voice Horace heard was Pixie’s as she walked him through how to deploy the tow cable.  Tip of the tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, he reeled the cable in until it was taught, then waited as Turalyon, Alleria, and several of the burlier champions rushed over.  No one moved or breathed as the hatch was ripped open and the High Exarch had hauled his son out of the wreckage. There was a collective sigh of relief when Arator staggered to his feet despite how he was doubled over, clutching his ribcage.  Bones could be mended. Death could not.

With the help of another airborne champion, Horace was able to lift the trashed warframe up above the crowds and carry it out of the hold.  Outside, the troops were gathered in the courtyard and cheering at the champions as they emerged. He felt a swell of pride at the victory. It hadn’t been a quick in-and-out invasion like they had planned, but in the end the day was still theirs.  Not far ahead was the Vindicaar, shiny and golden. He watched and waited while the army’s forces were teleported away bit by bit until it was only the champions who remained.

Without warning, his vision of the Vindicaar was obscured.  He squinted and tried to discern why the air had become to wavy, but his eyes quickly widened when he realized that something massive was materializing in the courtyard of Nath’raxas Hold.  Easily double the size of Lord Nath’raxas, this was no eredar; it was a hulking, human-like being in the guise of one of Odyn’s stormforged guardians, only this one’s skin was cracked and streaked with glowing red veins.

“Are you guys seeing this!?” he cried.

“By the Light, what is that thing?” Romuul breathed.  “Speaker Bronzebeard?”

A distinctly dwarven voice took over.  “It’s Aggramar; get out of there, now!”

“Do  _ not _ move, I am locking onto your coordinates,” Romuul said.

Horace’s heart was hammering nearly out of his chest as two glowing, soulless eyes seemed to bore a hole through his soul.   _ That’s a Titan _ , a little voice in the back of his head said, and it shook him to his core.

Aggramar’s sword was only half-complete, the other half made of opaque crimson energy.  Mouth contorting into a snarl, it took its sword in both hands and raised it above its head.  It brought it down, and Horace screamed.

Bright white light blinded his vision.  When he could next see, his warframe was on the ground at Destiny Point.  All the other champions were there and equally as shaken by the Titan’s abrupt appearance.

“The Titan is in the service of Sargeras, then,” Magni said morosely.

Horace wondered if the speaker knew that he was still transmitting.

“The Titans possess immeasurable power.  How is the Vindicaar supposed to withstand something like that?” Romuul wondered.

“It can’t.”  That was, surprisingly, Illidan’s voice.  “And unless we find and destroy the world soul of Argus, our cause is hopeless.”


	33. McAfee

_ 6 Months In _

_ There.  That should do it. _  Horace used the leather underside of his gauntlet to wipe the sweat from his brow.  “What’s your count, Rehgar?”

The orc shaman flashed him a tusk-filled grin and chuckled.  “Seventy-five.”

“Damn, forty-two.”  He ran his fingers through his hair.

“My spells have a greater area of effect than your sword and shield,” Rehgar replied.  “Maybe consider becoming a shaman if you want to bust out the big numbers.”

It had taken over half a year to secure Krokuun and the Antoran Wastes, at least up until Antorus, and the Burning Legion had been fighting them every step of the way.  Forty-two was just a drop in the pond of demons he had killed in the past six months, but somehow the staggering amount didn’t bother him as much. It was easier to detach humanity from being who were ready and willing at all times to commit unspeakable atrocities.  Even if there were some nice demons, Horace didn’t care when his family and friends, his whole world, was at stake.

A transponder crystal attached to his belt began blinking.  “Looks like we’re being summoned back,” he called, holding up the crystal.

“Already?  I was just getting warmed up.”  Nevertheless, Rehgar began collecting his totems.

Working with Rehgar and his husband, Muln, had been a little awkward at first.  Of course he knew of the orc shaman--the man’s infamy wasn’t just reserved to the gladiatorial circles--but, “Didn’t you kidnap my boyfriend’s dad?” was a poor way to establish friendship.  Besides, he looked downright depressed if Broll or Valeera brought up memories involving Varian Wrynn.

The three of them were the last to arrive at the Vindicaar, being the farthest away from any teleportation beacons.  Captain Fareeya, Velen, and Turalyon and Alleria were standing upon the navigation console’s raised platform, addressing the gathered crowd of soldiers.

“... has been admirable, and we applaud your every effort, no matter how small it may seem.  But now we venture further, to the long-forgotten reaches of Argus. We will be travelling north, to Mac’Aree,” Fareeya was saying.  “An elite strike force of one hundred soldiers will be sent to secure the area and ensure that we have full control of the planet before our invasion of Antorus begins.  The rest of you will continue to ensure that we leave the Legion not even the smallest foothold with which to defend their fortress. For Azeroth!”

“For Azeroth!” they all echoed.

Horace, as it turned out, was on that elite strike-force.  It was an honor to be considered “elite,” even if he felt that his work just met the standard of what was required.  Yet dread still crept into his forethoughts. No one, not even the Prophet, knew what to expect once they reached Mac’Aree.  For all they knew, it was more infested with demons than anywhere else in the universe. They would have to roll with punches that they couldn’t see coming.  It sent a shiver up his spine.

*

For all his apprehension, he was able to breathlessly appreciate how  _ beautiful _ Mac’Aree was.  Beyond beautiful; it was ethereal.  The glittering jewel of Argus sat right before him, almost completely untouched by the Legion’s taint.  And there was still something about the place that made him uneasy, some unknown force. He kept expecting it to jump out at him from the shadows at any moment and attack.  They had had to battle some demons upon their arrival, but besides that, it was eerily quiet.

Velen, using his staff as a walking aide, exited the Vindicaar and breathed deep.  “Ah, Mac’Aree… it has been so long,” he said softly.

“Scouts have thus far not reported any major Legion settlements nearby,” Alleria reported.

From their established base camp, a courtyard on the very southern tip of the region, the strike force was sending rogues to get a feel for what exactly they would be up against.  Meanwhile, heavier infantry like Horace remained to hold down the fort and set up defenses.

“Perhaps there was enough sanity intact in the minds of Archimonde and Kil’jaeden to keep them from destroying this last bit of our world,” Velen remarked.

When Horace glanced at the Prophet, he found tears shimmering in the old man’s eyes.  A pang of sympathy hit him. Westfall was pretty much a shithole, too, except for those few yards of riverbank near Elwynn… he should really ask Anduin to do something about that, come to think of it.  Until then, he continued to stare out at the crystal-adorned ruins and browned, overgrown vegetation.

He saw something slither up and over a rock roughly fifty yards north of his position.  He squinted, trying to tell where it had gone, but it had already disappeared into the undergrowth.

“Captain Fareeya?” he called, turning his head to the draenei.  “Do you know of any giant purple reptiles living out here?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, opening her mouth to speak.  Then she drew her weapon, assuming a defensive stance and shouting, “Look out!”

There was a hiss behind him, and he brought up his shield just in time to block a swipe of massive, jagged claws.  The attacking creature was tall but painfully thin, its hunched posture allowing it to loom directly above Horace. Its bug-like eyes were glassy and unseeing, yet it was fast, erratic in its attacks.  Gazing into those two bulging orbs, he saw an abyss, and it shook him to his core.

“We’re under attack!” he heard Captain Fareeya cry.

Quickly cutting down his opponent, Horace could see more approaching.  They sped up to him on all fours in the same manner as spiders, slavering jowls snapping hungrily.  Soldiers raced out of the Vindicaar to face them, activating the crystal defense matrices and manning the artillery.  The creatures hissed and howled like rabid beasts, unrelenting in their attacks until rendered physically incapable.

Horace kept light on his feet, focusing more on working with the creatures’ movements instead of against them.  When they lunged forward, he let them fall on his sword; when they tried to come at him from above, he sliced them open with an upward arc.  He was fast to realize during the fight that the singular most horrifying thing about them was that they had no blood. Their shriveled, leathery flesh held nothing.  He wondered if they were vampires. Maybe the only reason they weren’t swarming the ship was that the draenei cooked with  _ a lot _ of garlic.

And these creatures didn’t just have physical attacks, that would have been too easy.  Viscous purple fog dripped from their claws, reeking of decay. Whenever Horace got too close he felt revulsion curdle in his gut.  This was magic meant to drain the life force of whatever it touched, that much he could tell.

Uh oh.  In a momentary lapse of spatial awareness that would have thoroughly disappointed Sir Arthur, he had allowed himself to be backed into a corner.  As his back met stone, he counted seven of the leech-creatures creeping towards him. His heart began to pound as he looked around and saw no one available to help.  Debilitating adrenaline was coursing through his blood. He raised his shield and sword, trying to predict who would attack first. They all lunged at once.

_ Fear _ .  Someone screamed as he was dog-piled.  Had that been him? He was plunged into darkness, all senses muted but his thoughts swirling.  Terror, disgust, sorrow, mania all overpowered any grasp on logic, only growing as panic over what was happening to him took over.  He was choking, drowning, on the oppression of it all.

Then, by some miracle, a little gap appeared in the darkness.  “ _ You are in control _ ,” something cried, but they were far away, watery.  He looked up and saw the stars.

“ _ You will not be consumed _ .”  The gap grew.

“W-what?”  His voice was so meek.  He was so  _ scared _ .

“ _ Your will is your own _ .”

He could see now that he was on his knees, hands clutching at his head.  Dregs of that same viscous fog floated past him, up and out of the hole. He could see a hand--Alleria’s hand--outstretched towards him, grasping at the darkness and pulling it away from him.  When the last of it was wrenched back, she let out a sigh, body sagging momentarily. Horace felt an enormous weight lift off of him, and he gaped at her with speechless relief as she knelt in front of him.

“CONSCRIPT!”

Turalyon was marching over, his face contorted into an expression of barely-restrained fury.  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he barked.

If Horace hadn’t been hyperventilating, he would have said no, but all he could do was sit there and tremble.

“He  _ doesn’t _ know, Turalyon,” Alleria insisted.  “He’s scared.”

Husband and wife stared one another down, and it was in that moment he realized that all the creatures that had swarmed him lay dead in a circle around his feet.  There was no sign that he had utilized the Light in their killing. He gulped.

“Wh-what w-w-was that?” he stammered, and the two turned their focus back to him.

“You used the Void to slay those beasts,” Turalyon growled, folding his arms across his chest.

His eyes widened.  “H-how?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” he informed him.

Horace’s gaze went from the dead creatures to the High Exarch, then to Alleria.  He shook his head. “I have no idea. I-I never learned how to do any of that.”

Alleria hummed thoughtfully.  “Yes, I would assume they teach you to revile it in the paladin order,” she said, and he nodded.

“The paladin order he was expelled from.”

“Why don’t you take a walk and cool off, husband?  Lin and I are going to chat for a while,” Alleria stated primly.

The High Exarch sighed.  “I can… handle… you delving deeper into the Void, even though it makes me worry greatly for you.  I will not tolerate it from someone claiming to be devoted to the Light.” And with that, he strode off.

She sat down next to Horace, body language entirely non-threatening.  “Kicked out of the paladin order, huh? What’d you do?”

He winced.  “I shouted at a commanding officer, disobeyed direct orders, and stole a gryphon,” he admitted.

Alleria threw her head back and laughed.  “You sound like Turalyon.”

Confusion struck him.  Were they talking about the same person?  He decided it was better not to ask. “Did I really use the Void?” he said instead.

Her expression grew solemn once more, and she nodded.  “I believe you when you say you didn’t mean to, though.  If all these monsters were attacking you at once, it was probably something you tapped into out of desperation.”

“I honestly didn’t think that was even possible.”

“Without training, it takes you being in pretty dire straits.  The Void feeds off of our negativity--our deepest, most primal fears, and sorrows, and angers,” she explained.

“But why do you use it, then?  Aren’t you worried about what it’ll do to you?” he wondered.

The ranger shook her head.  “I dabble with Void magic in the name of knowledge.  It’s taboo, but I have already learned so much that can help our cause.  Believe it or not, the Burning Legion is not the universe’s most dire threat.

He groaned, flopping back against the wall so that his legs were splayed out in front of him.

“Sargeras wishes to be rid of the Void just as we do; it is the one thing he fears.  The hope is that, by understanding these forces, we can find a way to combat them,” she continued.

“Still, aren’t you scared of succumbing to it?”  Veteran paladins of the order had their fair share of stories about those who could not resist.  It never ended well.

“Who says you can’t succumb to the Light?” was her reply.

Horace thought back to Xe’ra and Illidan.  Alleria probably had a very good point, but right now he was exhausted.  He would think about it after a solid snooze.

“Just think of me as a new type of demon hunter.”

He turned his bleary eyes to face her.  “How about a demon hunter with good hygiene?”

She chuckled.  “Even better.”

*

He was relegated to a shift on the Vindicaar, where he was told to perform acts of benediction and contemplate the Light.  Not that he minded; it was nice to spend time doing something a little slower-paced. After shedding his armor, he sat down cross-legged in a relatively out-of-the-way section of the infirmary and started chatting with the wounded soldiers, keeping them company and seeing to their needs.

As for the contemplation part, there wasn’t much he felt like considering.  It had been Turalyon’s idea to tack that onto his orders. The High Exarch wasn’t a  _ bad _ person by Horace’s standards, he was just a little befuddling.  And exasperating. Sometimes even frustrating. But he was a good man.  Arator had been relegated to the infirmary for a few days after his warframe crashed, and his father had actually postponed meetings to stay by his bedside and make sure he was okay.  He was wholly devoted to his family and the soldiers under his command, but he was also unwavering in his political and religious stances, and knew how to use the weight of his authority.

Still, he was starting to like Alleria a lot more than the paladin he had grown up on larger than life stories of and had almost named himself after.  And, apparently, that frustrating was evident, because he was approached by Khadgar while retrieving some food for the soldiers from the cargo hold.

“I saw what happened earlier,” the archmage stated.  “Turalyon and I respect each other greatly, but he would make a good drill sergeant.”

Horace’s shoulders slumped.  “I said it once, and I’ll say it again: it would be  _ really nice _ if things could be a little more black and white when the fate of the entire universe is at stake.”  He cleared his throat as his voice came out a little sharper than he knew was kind. “Sorry, Archmage.”

“You can just call me Khadgar; I don’t really care for titles.  But I agree that it is unfortunate.”

“Alleria started asking me if it was possible to ‘succumb to the Light’ like people succumb to the Void, like it was a question that I secretly already knew the answer to.  I feel like I don’t know anything! It’s like it’s useless to form opinions because something will inevitably throw a wrench in it and you’re back to square one. Every. Time.”  He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I guess this is why people say ‘never meet your heroes.’ The only thing that’s guaranteed is a life-altering headache.”

Khadgar put a hand on his shoulder.  “Sometimes, you just have to grab life by the tits and be your own hero.  Medivh used to be my role model, my hero. In many ways, he still is. Then again, he was possessed by an avatar of Sargeras, and it’s hard to not look at the teacher whose head you had to chop off with rose-colored glasses.  But that’s okay. If I died tomorrow, I could still look at all the things in my life I’ve accomplished, and I can die proud of myself, because I managed to do good. Maybe that’s all we need out of life: to just be good.”

Horace saw how the archmage’s gaze had misted over and he looked now at something far gone somewhere past his head.  His brows furrowed. “Thanks, Khadgar. This has been… a conversation,” he said.

And just like that, the happy-go-lucky Khadgar snapped back to the present.  “I couldn’t agree more!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mcafee is what i kept thinking mac'aree was called lmao. that last little bit was influenced by the fact that i'm rewatching bojack horseman after watching season 5 and crying like a bitch because diane


	34. WarriorMale(s)

It was quickly dawning on everyone that Argus was a lost cause.  In their slash-and-burn campaign to purge the Legion, the armies saw that that was  _ all _ that the planet consisted of.  Only the hundred or so square miles of Mac’Aree had been spared, and that was only because it was riddled with Void entities.  Despite everything they had done, the world was dead, and nothing would bring it back.

The sad reality hit the draenei  _ hard _ .  Some would, at times, be inconsolable.  But Horace watched something almost magical arise from the sorrow: Alliance and Horde, heedless of their faction-related obligations back home, imparting a message of friendship to the draenei.  They would always be welcome on Azeroth. It sent a surge of warmth through his heart to know that peace, if given the chance, was indeed possible.

Otherwise, he had fallen into a cold routine.  Wake up when the Vindicaar’s clock read five in the morning, patrol, kill, defend, kill, rinse and repeat.  Every few cycles he would figure out what day and month it was on Azeroth, and sometimes he would have to mediate, but people were too tired to get involved in petty squabbles more often than not.  Not that he minded, of course; extra sleep was nice.

The portal mage was making his daily mail rounds while Horace was out on patrol, so when he returned to find his hammock contained a considerable pile of letters and small packages, he was surprised.  There was something from his family, Saskia, Natalie, Anduin, his grandma in Duskwood--oh shit he had forgot to tell his grandma he had gone to Argus--and, most surprising of all, Sir Arthur. He squinted at the calendar on the far wall.  If he had left on March 14th to defend Krokun, and had slept five times before returning, then it was… March 19th. His birthday. It was his birthday? Well, that explained the letters, anyways.

He was touched that his former mentor had decided to write him now.  Saving that one for last, he opened up each letter and package and found that everyone had sent him some form of chocolate.  Except for Natalie, who had given him more reading material and the news that she wanted to employ him in trials of ‘endocrinological nature,’ whatever that meant, when he got back.

_ I think I want a few months off before I become a guinea pig _ , he thought with a smirk, but there was still a lump rising in his throat.  Light, he missed them all so much. He even missed mucking the barn in Westfall.  Curling up on his hammock, he pulled out his pictures. They may have been winning the war against the Legion, but only out of sheer terror of the consequences of failure.  He blinked the mist out of his eyes and took a long, deep breath. It would be over soon. He had to believe that.

He sat up and opened Sir Arthur’s letter to distract himself.

 

_ Horace, _

_ I apologize for being so curt during our meeting in Dalaran.  I feel a great deal of guilt for your dishonorable discharge from the paladin order, and seeing you reminded me that I had failed to hold my ground against my superiors when they informed me of what was to happen.  But during your time on the Broken Shore, I kept an eye on you, and took notes on your ability and dedication. This past week I submitted my appeal to the leaders of the order, and I am pleased to inform you that they are willing to let you return to the order on probation.  If all goes well, you will be able to finish your time as a squire and eventually be knighted. Please let me know of your decision by the end of the week. _

 

Well, he was certainly distracted, but not in a good way.  They were allowing him back in… and yet he wasn’t sure if he should be excited by that or not.  He thought he had moved on and learned that he was happier without the order. But now he was filled with uncertainty.  Did he  _ want _ to go back?

Stormcaller Mylra was the closest awake champion relative to his current location.  She immediately brightened and accepted the squares of chocolate he broke off for her.  “Aw, you don’t have to give up your treat,” she said, “but if you insist. Thank you.”

“The paladins are willing to take me back,” he stated bluntly.  Khadgar’s gossipy nature had served him well in this case; his epic, truly epic, rebellion was no secret.  No explanation needed.

“Well, that’s wonderful!” she replied.

“Should I accept the offer, though?” he wondered, taking another nibble of his share of the chocolate.  “I can’t exactly leave if I decide it’s not working out.”

Mylra put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close, face serious.  “Laddie,  _ take this chance _ .  You can go  _ home _ .  I don’t know how old you are, but you look young enough to not belong in a hell like this.  You’re never going to get another opportunity like this.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “I… What if I regret it? It feels like I’d be giving up the fight.”

“You spend every day here playing chicken with death.  If you go home, you still get to defend Azeroth from the Legion, but you get to be with your family.”  She elbowed him gently and winked. “And that sweetheart of yours.”

He laughed nervously, feeling his face grow hot.  “Does everyone know about that?”

“It’s pretty obvious.  You start blushing and you kinda tilt your head to the side and get this little smile on your face.  Adorable, really.”

Sighing through his nose, he redirected the conversation to its original topic.  “I’ll give it a lot of thought. I have until next week to respond.”

Still displeased, Mylra insisted, “I don’t mean to be morbid, but every day you delay, you risk not being able to respond at all.”

He chewed on his lip.  “I know. But--”

“Agent Lin!  You’re on for patrol.”

“Again?” he asked, trying to suppress a groan.

Captain Fareeya was undeterred.  “Yes. You’re headed to Mac’Aree in fifteen minutes.  It’s only a half-day, but stay sharp. There’s reports of Void activity in the area,” she informed him.

Mylra thanked him for the chocolate as he suited up to leave.  “Please at least think about what I said,” she added, brows furrowed worriedly.

He promised he would.

His group consisted of Liadrin, Taoshi, Boros, and Tyrathan Khort.  Of all the champions, Khort was probably the quietest, keeping to himself and never causing even the slightest problem.  In another life, he would have made a good cat. Horace could hardly get a complete sentence out of him. But he was an expert marksman and an even better tracker, so he was a valuable member of their team.

It wasn’t long before they encountered trouble.  Liadrin called a warning right before the entities struck, their deadly claws flailing.  Horace had heard that they were once draenei, and the thought made him sick. These things didn’t seem like anything that was at any point natural.

When the skirmish was over, the Void entities lay dead at their feet, six of them all total.  Tyrathan moved forward and began extracting his arrows from their bodies, taking great care not to break a single one.

“You know arrows can be replaced, right?” Liadrin told him, arching one long, slender brow.

“These ones can’t,” he grunted in reply, and that was that.

They were walking parallel to the Seat of the Triumvirate.  Romuul had remarked frequently about how, back in the day, it had been the pinnacle of eredar architecture and design.  It was indeed a beautiful structure, but its history cast a dark shadow upon its shining crystal pylons. This was the very place where Sargeras had propositioned Velen, Archimonde, and Kil’jaeden.  The place where it all began. Now the Prophet was back, and with two armies to boot.

Horace gazed up at it, mesmerized.  “Think we’ll ever get to see the inside?”

“I sincerely hope so,” Vindicator Boros sighed.  “Such a wondrous relic… It is my hope that it will have a chance to remain pristine, even if nothing else does.”

_ That may very well be the case _ , he thought.  Then, an idea sprang into his head.  “How much of this technology could we fit on the Vindicaar?” he wondered aloud.

The other paladin looked intrigued.  “We would have to speak to Romuul, but I like the idea.”

“I think we should commission the artisans onboard the ship to refurbish little knick-knacks that we find--give people something to help them stay positive,” he added.

Boros stroked his chin and nodded, a small smile on his face.  “As do I. Though we will not save this world, it would be a comfort to preserve its achievements.”

A glimmer of something in the distance caught Horace’s attention.  He strained to make out its physical shape, but it was too translucent.  Regardless, he unsheathed his sword.

Liadrin slipped into an battle stance. “More Void entities?”  

“I can’t tell,” he admitted, but he couldn’t keep the hair on the back of his neck from settling down.

The four of them remained on the defensive as they advanced, wary of the flickering and flashing energies moving erratically.  Horace tentatively reached out with the Light to feel around and discern if it was a threat. The energy was, admittedly, not Void, but it wasn’t Light, either.  Nor was it malevolent. But the closer he got to it, the more at ease he felt.

“They’re spirits,” he realized aloud.

Male draenei, about fifty of them, were crowded around a sunken rectangular pit in the ground.  In that pit were two more draenei sparring, using their own brute force and magic to overpower one another.

Boros seemed to light up in recognition.  “These are spirits of the Jed’hin,” he announced.

“Explain,” Liadrin prompted, seeming intrigued by the spectacle.

“An order of male warriors dedicated to honing their physical and spiritual prowess,” he told them all.  “Above all else, they valued balance between the light and dark aspects of themselves and the universe.”

“You’re speaking in the past tense.  I take it this order is no more?” Liadrin asked.

Boros nodded sadly.  “Lost to the Legion’s reign, as so much else was.”

Balance above all else…  Horace would be lying if he said he didn’t like the idea.  Alleria and Turalyon’s conflict floated to his forethoughts.  They were like two sides of the same coin, and neither person’s views were wrong, just different.  Horace loved the Light, loved the good he could bring about with it, and was more than happy that it was a part of him as much as he was a part of it.  But he had learned that the Void was a part of him, too. Maybe he needed to love that part of himself as well.

A finger tapping his shoulder startled him out of his own mind.  Liadrin raised her brows at him in askance; he gave her a reassuring, toothless smile, and followed the other three as they resumed their patrol route.

*

_ Sir Arthur the Faithful, _

_ I’m honored beyond words that you went through all the trouble for me.  I know I wasn’t always the perfect student, and I’m so sorry that my actions brought you any guilt and grief.  You were an amazing teacher and I value everything you taught me, which is why I can’t accept your offer. If I leave Argus, I’m abandoning my post in a time of crisis.  I can’t call myself a paladin if I don’t give my all to stop something as evil as the Burning Legion. I’m sorry. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Horace Lin _

 

He read and reread his words, trying to figure out if he would regret any of them.  Yet he understood deep down that this was the right thing to do. He sighed through his nose and stood, closing the lid on his stationery set and walking towards the mailbox.

“That’d better be your acceptance letter to the paladin order.”

He winced, turning around to face Stormcaller Mylra as she stood with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot expectantly.  Assuming his best poker face, he slid the letter into the mailbox slot and heard it disappear with a poof.

She let out a frustrated noise.  “You’re gonna get yourself killed, laddie, and then what’s your family gonna do?” she snapped.

“Mylra, I have to stay,” he tried to insist, but she was already walking away.

“You can’t blame her for being upset.”

Horace looked to Alleria, who was leaning up against the ship’s outer wall.  “I don’t, but I hope that she’ll at least respect my choice.”

“I’m sure she will.  I know you feel you’re needed here, people do indeed rely on you, but no one would try to stop you if you wanted to leave.  It  _ is _ very obvious you’re young.  Us grizzled war veterans have seen our fair share of hopeful kids get beaten down and killed before they’ve even had a chance to experience life.  And pardon my dwarvish, but we’ve gotten a little attached to you and it would suck fucking balls if you died.” She rocked forward, arms unfolding from across her chest.  “Anyways, Magni wants everyone at the navigation console in five. Sounded important.”

He lingered by the mailbox for a few more minutes, chewing on his lower lip.  Was he being selfish in staying? He really, truly felt that he needed to stay, but what if that was only because he didn’t want to feel guilty for leaving?  Sighing away his apprehension, he forced himself to come to terms with the fact that the letter was already sent, and headed to the meeting.

Magni was as visibly distressed as it was possible for someone whose face was made of diamond to be.  The shaman champions were no better; Muln and Rehgar were talking quietly to one another, brows furrowed and eyes shimmering with anxiety.  It sent an uneasy chill up Horace’s spine, and he swallowed hard and waited to hear what the speaker had to say.

Flanking Magni was Velen, who put a gnarled hand on the his shoulder and beseeched him to begin.

Nodding, he scanned the crowd, then let out a sad sigh.  “I won’t lie to you. Things are not good. Sargeras has  _ all _ the pantheons’ souls in his possession.  And he intends to use them to his advantage.”

Dead silence.  Horace’s mouth went drier than bone.

“We need to take drastic action, or we won’t be able to take any action at all.  The territory we’ve conquered isn’t enough to stop him.”

When he went quiet, Khadgar prompted him to continue.  “So, what you’re saying is…”

“It’s now or never, champions.  We need to take the fight to Antorus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA


	35. Finish the Fight!

He wrote three letters.  One was for his parents and sisters, safe and sound in Westfall.  He did his best to assuage their fears, promising he would be home soon and telling them he loved them all. The second went to Saskia and Natalie. He thanked then, joking that they had been the ones to start him on this long, strange adventure.

The last and arguably most difficult to write was for Anduin.   _I cherish you and what we have together_ , he had scrawled down, _but if I don’t make it back my ghost won’t begrudge you for moving on. And if I do, I’m definitely taking you up on that kiss you mentioned a while back._

After mailing them, it was time to don his armor.  Helmet cradled under one arm, he looked at his reflection in the Vindicaar’s glass observation deck.  Emblazoned on his breastplate was a ram, the epitome of resolution and courage. And although he hadn’t really washed his hair in two weeks, his face was broken out and his lungs ached from the horrible atmosphere, and there wasn’t a single inch of his body that hadn’t been bruised or bloodied at some point, he could look at himself and know that he embodied those qualities.   _No backing down, Lin.  For Azeroth_.

Of the five hundred that had travelled to Argus, there were two hundred and ninety-two left.  The Burning Legion had cut down two hundred and eight of the very best that Azeroth had to offer in the span of eleven and a half months.  Horace liked to think that he had survived on sheer luck, but he could see that he had changed a great deal in that time. His body was hard muscle and little scars smattered around.  His reflexes had increased twofold, and his sword and shield had become his most trustworthy companions. Behind his shaggy black mane was a set of eyes that had seen horrible things. He was war-forged, ready for the biggest and baddest Sargeras would throw his way.

He was also Horace James Lin, a simple farm boy from Westfall who hadn’t the faintest clue how ninety-nine percent of the past eleven and a half months had happened to him.  Finally, he was someone who didn’t regret anything he had done, and if he didn’t make it back to Azeroth, that was one think he could die certain of. Even if he was absolutely fucking terrified.

On his way to the teleportation beacon, he saw a lightfored draenei soldier holding a small nether ray toy and smiled.

“Grand Artificer.”  From his position standing before the legendary Crown of the Triumvirate, Velen’s voice rang loud and strong throughout the Vindicaar.  Horace had had no part in retrieving the other pieces of the Crown, but from hearsay he had learned of its magnificent power. As Romuul turned to Velen and nodded, the three jewels began to glow and vibrate, humming with untold energy.

“It is time, champions,” Velen continued.  He struck his staff against the metal floor, and the Crown spun, faster and faster.  Lifting his staff to it was parallel to the floor, he declared, “We will take the fight to Sargeras.”

A pulse of pure, holy Light surged through the Vindicaar, bathing everything and everyone in an empowering golden glow.

“We will destroy his foul Legion.”

The ship turned in place until its observation deck faced Antorus.

“We will bring peace to the universe.”

The sound of metal clanking was heard below the hold, and the humming increased as the floor grew warmer beneath their feet.

“And we.  Will.  Be.   _Victorious!_ ”

Horace watched in awe as a blinding beam of energy shot out from the belly of the Vindicaar.  It collided with the gates of Antorus with a thunderous _boom_ , and the earth shuddered.

“Khadgar, take us down!”

In a flash of arcane energy, Horace, the Armies of Legionfall, the champions of Azeroth, and the Army of the Light were placed just outside Antorus, where demons were already pouring out to meet them.  With a roar, he unsheathed his sword and brought it down as the two opposing forces met in a rain of carnage. He was merciless; any demon that got in his way was hacked, slashed, and disposed of.

The gates of Antorus were a vital chokepoint that either side could use against the other, and the bodies were starting to pile up.  Thankfully, Horace noticed, there were significantly more demon bodies. He had to duck as an arcane bomb sailed over his head, obliterating the corpses and creating more in the process.   _Dammit, Khadgar, I love you_ , he thought.   _You bastard._

When they broke through to the other side of the gates, they were greeted with a trek down a long, switchback path leading down into hold.  The Vindicaar was using its new weapon to take down aerial interference, giving the attacking armies a moment to get their bearings and see where they needed to move first.  And it seemed that the only way forward was down the fel-wrought staircase.

The resistance they met along the way was easier to dispatch.  Taking a page from the monks’ book, he planted a steely roundhouse kick in an imp’s ribcage, sending it staggering over the edge and to its death.  Up above, warframes were being deployed to assist in the aerial defense.

The end of the path was abrupt, some invaders yanking each other back before they fell over the edge.  Below was a Garothi Annihilator, looking up sharply at the sudden movement. It covered the very edge of the cliff in a rain of bullets that had everyone scrambling back to avoid being shot.  When the dust settled, Horace tentatively leaned forward, peaking over his shield.

“I’ve got this,” Archmage Modera called.

They were teleported down in the blink of an eye and charging at the machine.  Spellcasters launched a barrage of magic directly at its core, and Horace brought up his shield to avoid being blinded by shrapnel as it exploded.  Then the ground began to shake.

He heard footsteps approaching, and in the distance could see another Garothi machine approaching.  This one, however, was more massive than any of the Legion’s creations he had seen before. Swallowing hard, he backed away, legs trembling.

“Enemy contact.  Deploying arsenal,” it boomed in its mechanical, hollow voice, and his teeth rattled at the force of the soundwaves being blasted at him.

At the vanguard, Turalyon cried, “We’re gaining ground.  Press the attack!” and signalled for the lightforged to advance.

The few that did weren’t even presented with a chance to regret their decision.  The Garothi creation brought its fists up and swung them down upon the draenei. Before Turalyon could call them back, they were nothing but piles of gore on the ground, and the Worldbreaker was declaring, “Threat terminated.”

Horace turned away from the horror and retched.  His shield clattered to the earth as his body violently reacted to what he had seen.  There was a large hand on his back, and for a moment he panicked.

“They are with the Light, now,” came Vindicator Boros’s gentle rumble.  “Stay strong, soldier.”

Straightening, he picked his shield back up and wiped his face.  He refused to let himself look at the casualties again, keeping his eyes fixated on the Worldbreaker.

“We’re DOOOOOOOOOMED!” Millhouse Manastorm cried.

“No, we are not,” Turalyon barked.  “Stand firm, champions of Azeroth. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.  Now bring that monstrosity down!”

Boros let loose a warcry and pounded his fists against his chest as he charged at the machine, picking up his hammer and swinging it around as if it weighed no more than a toothpick.  After a moment, Horace followed with his own less heroic-sounding scream. He forced his mind to go blank and his muscle memory to take over so the threat would pay attention to him instead of his squishier comrades.  

The Garothi Worldbreaker certainly paid attention to him.  And it was _pissed_.  Horace summoned a barrier of Light as ammunition rained down upon him.  Warframes circled around the machine and peppered it with fire, which unfortunately looked like it did more damage than it was doing.  The thing’s armor was nigh impenetrable; the only feasible way to destroy it seemed through the canons and the fel crystal core.

Massive claws swiped at the melee fighters, shredding through the dirt and rendering the edge of the cliff vastly more dangerous than before.  Horace rolled out of the way just in time, flinging his shield up at the Worldbreaker’s head and wrenching it back. Behind him, he could hear goblins and gnomes frantically yelling at each other to set up the explosives “before they were toast” and doubled his efforts.

The Worldbreaker raised its fists above its head again, drawing in streams of fel energy from the atmosphere.  Horace screamed for everyone to run, turned tail, and scrambled away as fast as he could. The wind it was generated buffeted and blinded him, sucking the air right from his lungs, but he didn’t dare stop moving until he was knocked off of his feet by the force of the blow.  When he rolled back onto his feet, he saw the Worldbreaker gripping the cliff’s edge and leaning forward, the shoulder-mounted cannons whirring to life.

“Alright, ladies and gobs, let’s do what we do best: destroy!” shouted one of the goblins, and Horace was quick to put up his shield as three massive rockets were launched at the Worldbreaker.  The resulting explosion sent shrapnel flying in every which direction, including through his shield. He yelped and jumped back at the piece of metal jutting out of the bulwark.

The Worldbreaker lurched back, arms reaching out to take hold of the cliff but ultimately grasping at nothing.  Its massive weight didn’t allow for any last-minute corrections, and its final, pre-programmed words echoed throughout the whole fortress, “Termination imminent.”  Soon enough, hundreds of tons of metal collided with the valley far below.

Horace knew he would never forget that voice as long as he lived, but he couldn’t dwell on it for the time being.  That was just the first of Sargeras’s horrors, and he had an aching suspicion that it wasn’t even the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter but that's because the next one's gonna be a lot longer. argus will definitely have an effect on horace that i'm exploring in the sequel (yay sequel i'm so excited!!!). i'm definitely going to finish this before nanowrimo in november everything's all planned out. it only gets darker from here until the last chapter lmao it's k though <3


	36. Nazgrim Ex Machina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw your warcraft character accidentally becomes a star wars character

He loved dogs.  He always played with the guard dogs in Stormwind when he wasn’t on duty.  So, naturally, he hated the idea of having to kill  _ these _ dogs, even if they were part of the Legion.

Illidan called them F’harg and Shatug, the two prized felhounds of Sargeras.  Vicious killers who were far from shy about playing with their food. If the armies hoped to advance to the Antoran High Command, they would have to ensure these dogs’ days were over.  Hopefully it would be quick.

“Their strength comes in their proximity,” Illidan also said, “as does their weakness.  When one falls, the other is sure to follow.”

Hiding just out of sight of the two massive beasts, the champions huddled and started to brainstorm a plan.  It was decided that a few of the more heavily-armed fighters would keep F’harg distracted in one corner of the lair, while everyone else would focus in on Shatug.  With any luck, Illidan’s knowledge on the demons would prove accurate, and killing one would kill the other.

Horace hefted his gladius in his hand, creeping around the rocks towards where F’harg was sleeping.  On the opposite side of the cave was Shatug, with the rest of the champions quickly closing in. The shadow-infused felhound sniffed the air and growled, baring its massive, dripping fangs, and awoke its counterpart.  F’harg lifted its blind head and sniffed as well. Horace’s heart hammered in anticipation, but he kept still, waiting for the signal.

After several crackling moments, Illidan lifted a hand, and snapped his fingers.  Horace leaped out of his hiding spot with a cry, slapping his blade against his shield hard enough to create sparks that immediately caught the attention of F’harg.  The felhound pounced, and he dove down into a roll to avoid being crushed, coming back up on one knee and launching his shield at its exposed head tentacles.

F’harg let out a pained yelp that quickly became a snarl, alerting Shatug.  The other felhound roared and crouched down. When it straightened, it lifted its head and howled.  Horace felt the wind buffet him as it spiraled about Shatug, drawing pure shadow to its maw. It sent the sphere of energy towards the attackers and watched as every champion was powerless to its gravity.

Horace’s curse was lost to the wind as he lost his footing; the sphere was dragging him in, something that he knew wouldn’t end well.  He flipped onto his belly and shoved his sword into the ground to use as an anchor while he regained his footing. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t even pull his legs under him with the intense gravity trying to suck him into oblivion.  His muscles screamed at him as he struggled to pull himself forward. There was a distant scream, and something flashed past his periphery. Terror surged through him, but he couldn’t let himself think about who that was or what was going to happen to them.  All he could do was save his own skin.

_ Above all else, they strive for balance. _  The creed of the Jed’hin hit him in the face like a sack of bricks.  Where there was darkness, there also had to be… Light. He could feel it surging through him, surrounding him, and in that moment, Horace let go of his sword.

The center of the shadow sphere was devoid of any sound or light except for his own heartbeat and the Light within him.  The negativity battered him relentlessly, but it was ultimately a fruitless effort. Horace was in control now, and he let the Light radiate out from his soul, taking hold of the shadow and wrestling it into submission.  Bit by bit, he felt the shadow sphere’s energy ebb, until it was gone entirely, and he stood.

He blinked against the brightness of his own Light, letting it fade away as he pumped his fist into the air and cried, “Not today, demon!”

The attackers renewed their fight against Shatug, and Horace turned back to face F’harg.  And promptly swore again.

He barely had enough time to dodge the stampeding mini-F’hargs as they charged to the other side of the cave before disappearing.  Coughing from the searing heat, he ran back to the fiery demon, snagging his sword and continuing to beat it against his shield like a war drum.  Any animal backed into a corner was dangerous, and this one proved to be no exception. F’harg’s jaws were massive but quick, and it lunged at him over and over.  It swiped at him, and he was knocked back, helmet bouncing off his head. He balked as it made to pounce on him, but it never got the chance.

Nazgrim flung himself at F’harg in the blink of an eye.  Before anyone could react, the felhound snapped its jaws shut around him.  For several long moments, all F’harg’s attackers could do was stand there are gape.

Then a sword burst forth from F’harg’s chest.  Behind Horace, Shatug let out an agonized howl as it, too, was impaled.  The sword receded, then reappeared further up. Illidan declared to everyone to press the attack, Shatug was waning, but some were still transfixed at what was unfolding before them.  Nazgrim was killing the felhound from the inside out.

Horace was snapped out of his reverie by the ground quaking as the two felhounds finally collapsed.  F’harg’s attackers exchanged confused looks as time went by but Nazgrim didn’t appear. Was he dead? Walking slowly towards the felhound’s muzzle, Horace wondered if the would have to pry it open and fish him out.

His question was quickly answered when F’harg’s upper jaw was wrenched upwards.  He let out a startled cry as Nazgrim roared victoriously. The death knight stepped out of F’harg with a laugh, blade in hand.  He laughed harder when he saw the expressions on everyone’s faces.

“Death knights,” someone muttered.

Hefting his sword in his hand, Nazgrim grinned and bellowed, “What’s next?”

*

What was next was the Antoran High Command.  Velen himself had exited the Vindicaar for this, his bushy brows drawn together in anger.  He slammed his staff on one of the platforms inside the citadel, and it began a slow ascent to the next level.

“There is no redemption for these  _ traitors _ ,” he spat.  “We shall make them pay for their crimes.”

Horace had never seen Velen angry until now.  It sent a shiver up his spine to witness it. He hoped upon hope that he wouldn’t have to ever be on the receiving end of that wrath.

Stepping off the elevator, the team was greeted by a floating, holographic map of several planets, including Azeroth and its two moons.  Horace gripped the handle of his gladius tighter, clenching his jaw. This was where the Legion planned their conquest of worlds, was currently planning their conquest of his world.  He was glad that he could personally ensure their plans wouldn’t succeed.

Behind those holographs was an eredar woman clad in admiral’s regalia, her leathery wings folded neatly at her back.

“Svirax,” Velen growled.

The eredar inclined her head.  “It is good to see prey whose back is to the wall.  It makes the kill all the more exciting.” She snapped her fingers, and in either corner of the room a pod whirred to life.

Velen put up a shield as landmines flew at them from the pods, their fel-infused contents exploding on impact with the Light.  “Your crimes will be punished, monster!”

Horace was rocking on the balls of his feet, ready to run for the admiral at any second.  A few yards in back of her, he noticed, was an unoccupied pod. If he could get past her, he might be able to commandeer it.  Yeah, he was going to commandeer the command pod. It sounded simple enough--at least, it did in his head.

People began to rush past him, and he realized that Velen had already ordered them to charge.  He kept sword and shield in hand, he bolted past Svirax, then dropped them just outside the pod and clambered inside.  Her cry of outrage was muted by the closing of the pod’s crystalline door, and it was in that moment Horace realized that he couldn’t read any of the prompts generated by its activation.  His eyes widened and he frantically looked around, trying to figure things out.

In front of him were two levers.  The eredar was much larger than him, so it was difficult to reach, but he was able to lean forward in the seat enough to grab hold of them both.  Pulling the left one forward made the pod tilt back. The right one made something above him move; he turned his gaze upwards and saw that it was a gun.

“Oh,  _ hell _ yes.”  Looking just past it, he saw a Legion ship readying its own weapons to fire down upon his companions.  He continued playing with the levers, lining up his shot, and pressed a shiny red button on the inside of the right lever.

The explosion was beautiful, all reds and golds, like trees in autumn.  He pressed the button again, hitting another sector of the Legion ship. Majestic.  Maybe he should have been a goblin instead of a human. Before he got in another shot, however, the ship had moved out of sight.

Outside, the other command pods were littering the floor with landmines.  But Svirax wasn’t the only eredar in the fight, anymore; six smaller demons had joined her.  Horace fiddled with the levers in his pod until the gun was level with the admiral. If his fun new machine could force a Legion ship to turn tail and run, imagine what it could do to a couple of demons.  He pulled the trigger… 

… And Admiral Svirax’s head became considerably less attached to her body.  The combatants gaped at the rest of her toppling to the ground, then at him.  Inside his pod, Horace was equally as shocked, his stomach flip-flopping and hands shaking.  Nazgrim gave him a thumbs up.

The initial shock wore off when the second member of the Antoran High Command burst forth from his command pod.  “I am Chief Engineer Ishkar, and I will engineer your destruction!” he bellowed.

It would have been the kind of snappy remark that Horace could really appreciate if Ishkar hadn’t slammed his fists against the pod.  The green-tinted glass cracked under the weight of the blow, and Horace’s heart leaped into his throat. His weapons were outside and out of reach; he had no way to defend himself.

Ishkar pounded against the glass again, leaning his whole body into it while spells and melee attacks bounced harmlessly off of his armor.  He raised his fists once more and Horace began to say his prayers.

There was a loud, fleshy explosion, and blood splattered the glass.  Ishkar’s body slumped against the pod before falling in a heap on the ground.  Outside, he could see the other champions mobbing the final command pod, wrenching it open and attacking its occupant.

Horace curled in on himself, trembling, while tears stung his eyes.   _ This is too much, _ he thought.   _ I never should’ve agreed to stay, I can’t do this…  _

“We’re getting you out, soldier!”

His head snapped up and he quickly wiped his face of any evidence he had been crying.  People were congregating around the pod as two mages cut the frame and lifted it away.  _ Right, _ he thought to himself,  _ these people are why I stayed…  _

Turalyon reached in, and Horace clasped his hand to help him clamber out.  His coltish legs almost didn’t support his weight, but he shoved down his fear and stood tall, retrieving his sword and shield.

“An excellent display of ingenuity, soldier,” the High Exarch remarked curtly.  He turned to address the rest of the team. “Let us regroup with the others and establish our fortifications.  We cannot allow the Legion to reclaim a single inch of what we have taken thus far.”

Horace’s shoulders slumped as he thought how wonderful a moment to rest would be.  Yes, this was terrifying work, but someone had to do it. He took a deep breath and forced himself to stand a little straighter.  Some food and rest and he would be fine. It wasn’t like there was any alternative.

**Author's Note:**

> I love and appreciate any feedback, good or bad, that I receive because it helps me become a better writer. If you read this work and enjoyed it, please feel free to leave kudos! It helps motivate us writers to know that our work is appreciated~


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